


As Plain As

by HerSistersKeeper



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Class Differences, Courtship, Eventual Kylo Ren/Rey, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent Han Solo, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Light Angst, Mistaken Identity, Orphan Rey (Star Wars), Parents Han and Leia, Romance, Slow Burn Rey/Kylo Ren, The Penelope AU No One Probably Wants, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wealth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerSistersKeeper/pseuds/HerSistersKeeper
Summary: ON HIATUS"As Plain As The Nose On His Face"Dating was perhaps the worst thing that had ever happened to Ben Solo, and that was counting the fact that his nose was a snout. It wasn't his fault that his grandfather managed to employ the only practicing witch in the country and piss her off. It certainly wasn't his fault that his mother was bent on fixing this mess, even if she had to drag every eligible bachelorette in the country into their living room.And by no means was it his fault that he fell in love with the only non-blueblood who managed to slip in.(The Penelope AU that no one asked for)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pythia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pythia/gifts), [thegingerirritant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegingerirritant/gifts).



> Yes, this is an AU of the Penelope movie from 2006 with Christina Ricci and James McAvoy. Yes, I know I haven't updated my other fics. No, I don't really care at the moment.
> 
> Much love to The Ginger Irritant and PythiaSpeaks, my beta readers and cheerleaders. Thank you for putting up with my brainstorming and random commas.

Strange things had always been said about the Skywalker family.

Even though the family patriarch, Anakin, had passed away decades before and his two children had seemingly settled into normal lives, the society pages of the  _ Naboo Daily  _ were forever curious about what went on in that big house on 1214 Kessel Run. If you asked any reporter, former servant or friend of the Skywalker-Solos about the family and the inherent oddness that floated around them, you’d perhaps get a legally obligated shrug or just some muttering and a directive to go talk to DJ, the reporter with the eyepatch who harbored an odd grudge against Leia Solo.

However, if you asked the Solos’ housekeeper, Maz Kanata, a wizen old woman who had been in the employ of the family since the days of Anakin Skywalker, she’d have a simple answer. It was a curse. Plain and simple.

As with all curses, there was a story to go with it, a story that Maz would drop her voice for, for to speak of such matters in anything louder than a hushed tone surely was asking to bring a curse onto yourself. Her eyes would close and then open to focus on you from behind her large spectacles, her tawny wrinkled face round like her lips as she launched into her all too practiced explanation, that went something like this:

So the problem started, as it always did, with a man. Mr. Anakin was a kind man, a righteous man, but he was a foolish one. After all, what man would see his many blessings: a fat bank account, a loving wife, the promise of children swelled in her stomach, a beautiful house and wonderful friends, and throw that all away? (Maz would always pause here, shake her head sorrowfully, before continuing.)

Anakin, for all his kindness, always had an issue with his pride. And one day, the offer of advancing further up the food chain and gaining the respect of a politician named Palpatine and maybe, in time, a seat in the state senate, was too much of a temptation for Anakin, and he traded his kindness for cruelty.

This cruelty soured many of the once wonderful aspects of his life. Friends left him, the home he built with his wife fell into disrepair, and the family fortune began to dwindle. The only constant was Padme, who struggled through her last months of pregnancy alone, save her midwife and a few servants. And then he lost her too, through no fault but his own.

The servants had done everything they could to get Anakin to come home when Padme had gone into labor, screaming for her husband, even if just for him to be there to see the children. Despite the many phone calls and the loyal searching of several servants, Anakin did not come home until late, as he always did.

 

There wasn’t screaming ringing through the house any longer, a detail that the great man didn’t seem to notice until he couldn’t find his wife anywhere. The only person he could find in the household was one servant, an old woman who looked on the verge of death herself, exhausted and grieving for her mistress.

They say that the old woman cursed her master, right then and there. Maz would say that the old servant was seeking revenge for the rejection Anakin had forced upon his wife, his friends, and so many more who had followed him.  _ May the first child born to your children be born with the face of a pig. Only when one of your own kind can accept them as their own, till death do they part, will the curse be broken! _

If anyone but Maz was telling the story, they would say that Anakin died shortly thereafter of heartbreak, having come to the hospital to find his wife passed and his children to be fostered by other blue bloods. However, that was only half true, as the loyal housekeeper would scoff and say. True, Padme died so her children could live, and her children were given to their godparents to raise, but Anakin continued his life alone, working back the fortune he had almost lost, the only thing he could successfully provide anymore. The only thing that died with Padme was Anakin’s will to live, as he lived the rest of his life with the fear of the curse his foolishness had imposed on his children.

Now the willingness to believe the curse had always been a weak thing, at best, even among the Skywalker children. The only child who dared to continue on her family line considered herself removed far enough from her father that when she became pregnant a year after his death, she faced the new challenge with excitement and a stubbornness not unlike her father’s.

That had been thirty years ago, almost to the day. And as it stood, the only person who could possibly tell that story better than Maz was one of the only people privileged enough to know if the curse was real or just some noble family phooey. And he was sure of the curse, as sure as he was of the snout on his face.

 


	2. Chapter 1

As a rule, Ben Solo tried not to complain. It was a rule that was hard to remember, especially as he sat behind the one way mirror that looked out into the small family library, watching the most recent dating agency pick primp herself in the mirror, unaware that he was on the other side...but he remembered it all the same.

 

After all, when you have a pig snout because your grandfather was a jackass and happened to have hired the only active witch in the 1950s, your options are unsurprisingly limited. Ben shook his head, sighing to himself as he glanced at the woman before him picking at a stray eyelash and then back down at the book in his lap. If he didn’t make a sound, he could at least finish this chapter before she-- Bazine, or Beatrice or some other “b” name-- spoke.

 

Would his mother, his sweet, well-meaning and long suffering mother, complain at him for not being a gentleman and greeting his potential bride to be and curse-breaker first? Yes, but then again, it wasn’t his idea to start the whole dating game on his 18th birthday, curse or no curse.

 

And that was before he considered the fact that he was now 30 years old and had scared off about an entire country’s worth of female suitors. After all, no woman would really stop to consider anything past his nose, even if he did have the pretty brown eyes and dazzling personality that his mother spoke of. He couldn’t really blame them, the man flipping a page as he continued reading, unbothered by how Barbara--whatever her name was-- was now picking her very normal nose.

 

Dating was perhaps the worst thing that had ever happened to Ben Solo, and that was counting the fact that his nose was a snout. 

 

True, he had survived a childhood where he wasn’t allowed outside, around other children and for all intents and purposes, was dead in the public eye. He had put up with many restrictions, such as not being able to eat bacon (at least, in front of his mother, since Maz would always sneak him a piece or two whenever Mrs. Solo would particularly annoy her) and having to skip any instance of reciting “This little piggie went to market” as a toddler. 

 

However, the fact that his mother felt the need to hire a matchmaker, install shatterproof glass, supply the butler with sneakers, have gag orders laying around the house, and still insist that they shouldn’t give up on finding a woman to break the curse? Really, all the rest looked tame in comparison.

 

“Oh sweet Benjamin? Good morning!” Ben rolled his eyes at the greeting, taking an extra moment to bookmark his spot before tossing the book on the pile of novels he kept by his mirror. 

 

Seeing that he spent so much time in the reverse hostage situation that was dating, his lounging spot by the mirror was the only section of his room that he left messy and cluttered with various means of entertaining himself. Whereas the rest of the spacious room was neat and orderly, with a desk, a large bed, a chest of drawers and more, the mirror spot was littered with books, a set of watercolors, his calligraphy set from Uncle Luke, and a small watering can for the various terrariums he tended around his bedroom. Anything to keep himself sane while he was still stuck here.

 

“Good morning, Bazine.” He was guessing at her name, but given her wide grin, he assumed that he had guessed right, settling back in his armchair. “How did you sleep last night?”

 

“Oh, so well,” she chirped before feigning a pout, “Except I kept thinking about the thing you said yesterday. About feeling so trapped.” She crossed her arms on the fireplace mantelpiece under the mirror, looking all too pleased with herself. 

 

Every girl who had made it to this stage in their courtship (if one could call it that) always was too pleased at this part, Ben mused, casting a look over his shoulder to his bed and wondering if he could squeeze in a nap while yet another suitor delivered a monologue.

 

Really, there were many things he’d rather be doing instead of this, but instead, he forced a smile, hoping it would reach his voice. “Oh? How do you mean?” 

 

“I feel trapped too!” She sighed dramatically, batting her kohl-lined eyes in the way her mother had probably taught her when shmoozing an old man out of his money, sweeping a few strands of dark blond hair over her shoulder. 

 

“Because of your good looks and family fortune?” Ben knew he shouldn’t roll his eyes, that it wasn’t this woman’s fault, but if he had a nickel for every iteration of this current conversation he had already been through, he’d have enough money where he could run away and be a well-off hermit like his uncle.

 

“Exactly! Everyone just sees my face and fortune and think they know the real me.” Bazine looked at the mirror again, lowering her voice almost conspiratorially. “But you know what, Ben? I think that we could help free each other.”

 

Ben absentmindedly scratched his nose, sighing at the odd shape and feeling of it, wondering if his mother was downstairs with the matchmaker, Phasma, cooing about Bazine being the one. As if the solution to the problem was as plain as the nose on his face.

 

“Ben...just let me in. Just let me in and I can set you free,” Bazine crooned, folding her hands under her chin, and sighing as she had seen many a rom-com heroine do. Her gaze was jerked away from the mirror and to one of the bookcases as it swung open now, a hidden door behind it, and a man stepped out.

 

The only thing that really registered with her was that this tall man had intense eyes and a pig’s snout and really, that’s all she wanted to see. She instantly recoiled, gagging with disgust as this creature dared to smile at her and say, “Hello,” in the voice of her would-be prince charming. And so Bazine did as any normal woman in her predicament would do.

 

She ran, shrieking as loud as she could, out of the room.

 

Ben watched the woman go, huffing a laugh to himself as he ran a hand through his shaggy hair, indulging himself for once by breezing out of the library after her so he could watch her scramble down the stairs. The fact that his mother Leia and their dutiful matchmaker Phasma was not so casually lingering at the bottom of the stairs and practically bowled over by Bazine was unfortunate, the man clapping a hand over his mouth to keep his snort of amusement quiet.

 

Even as their butler Cecil chased after the fleeing woman, Leia look unperturbed, fixing her eyes on her son. “What have I told you about springing yourself at women like that?”

 

“I’d hardly call it springing when I was politely fulfilling her request to see me.” Ben shrugged, slouching down the stairs to lean over railing of the second floor landing. As usual, Leia Organa-Solo stood perfectly coiffed in a cashmere sweater and slacks, a thick braid falling down her back. Even now that he stood a good twelve inches over his mother, he couldn’t help but feel intimidated by her stance, her hands on her hips, her look severe. 

 

“You scared her half to death! Do you think that I showed your father my mole on our third date? No! I--”

 

“Waited until after you were married, when you couldn’t scare him off. It isn’t a mole on my ass that I’m hiding,mother-- it’s my _nose_."  He tugged at the sleeves of his own wrinkled sweater, sighing as Leia’s lip quivered and she sniffled. Trudging down the steps, Ben wrapped his mother into a hug. “C’mon, Mom, don’t cry.”

 

“She really liked you,” Leia whimpered, looking up at her son disapprovingly as he muttered, “She really didn’t, Mom.”

 

“No! She just didn’t like your nose. You’re not your nose--” Ben sighed, patting his mother’s back as she murmured the usual ‘comforting phrases.’  _You’re not your nose. You’re not your grandfather. You’re not you-- you’re somebody who’s trapped and just waiting to come out…_

All in all, a typical day in the Solo household. And then Cecil trudged back in, his bald head shiny with sweat, his breathing belabored and his news anything but good: “I couldn’t catch her.”

 

With those four short words, Ben Solo had another thing to count worse than dating, and that was possibly agreeing with his mother as she wailed, “I _told_   you we should have made them sign the gag order before she meets you!”

 

So much for a typical day, he supposed.


	3. Chapter 2

Bazine Netal considered herself to be much like her family before her: cool and collected, fearless in the face of anything confusing and terrifying, a real honor to her family wealth and name. However, as she stormed into the office of the  _ Naboo Daily _ , the morning paper tucked under her arm and trumpeting the headline “Netal Heiress Suffers Public Breakdown,” she was certainly anything but calm and collected.

 

It was already bad enough that the day before she had discovered her Prince Charming to have been a literal pig, and that the police sergeant at the station had done nothing more than to laugh in her face and put her in holding overnight, but the fact that a reporter had witnessed her shrieking in fear and mistook it for insanity? That was just a slap to the face, and Bazine was sure to find this Jessika Pava who had dared to write the slander.

 

Pausing a moment in front of the office door with the placard reading “Society Columnist Jessika Pava,” Bazine cleared her throat and tried her best to smooth her wrinkled wool skirt. Throwing back her shoulders, she threw the door open. After all, the one thing she had learned as a Netal was how to get what she wanted. Nothing would change that.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

Twenty minutes later, Bazine was struggling against the strong grip of the security guard, shrieking at anyone who would listen. “I’ll have you know that I’m the next person in charge of my family’s company board and I will sue the shit out of this fucking paper! Mark my words, Pava, if you don’t retract that damn article, I will sue you and rip your guts out one gut at a time!”

 

Behind her, the office’s rickety elevator dinged, another reporter getting off onto the floor and pushing past, keeping his head down, the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes. His head didn’t lift until her next shriek: “I’m telling you! He had a pig face! His face was a pig’s!”

 

The reporter’s head swiveled around, his eyebrows lifting in curiousity upon recognizing the heiress, his voice low as he called out, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Chewie.” In an instance, the security guard paused, looking at the reporter, almost confused. 

 

“I believe Miss Netal is with me.” Nodding to her, the man waved for her to join him as Chewie released her arm, growling at her all the same.

 

“Who are you?” Bazine knew it was rude to blurt, falling silent as the man pointed at the placard on his office door-- _ DJ Toro-- _ before leading her in. Despite the image of the pig-nosed man still pasted in her mind, the heiress fought a wave of revulsion as she focused on DJ’s grizzled face, the black eyepatch a shock against his olive skin. Still, she sank down in the proffered seat, straightening her back as he sank into his own.

 

“So you saw the Solo boy?” DJ paused, watching the young Netal nod hurriedly, the gears in his head whirling. It had been thirty years since he had heard anything about the mystery child of the well to-do family, but he never forgot a story. Especially since this one was a bit more personal than most, the reporter sighing as he scratched along the edge of his eye-patch, the woman across from him flinching at his motion. He whistled quietly to himself. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

 

“You’ve seen him too?” Bazine leaned forward eagerly, a small hopeful smile tugging at her lips. 

 

“For a moment, a couple months after he was born. Hardly a look really---I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me,” the reporter frowned, rolling his eyes as the woman breezed right past his remark, murmuring instead.

 

“Thank god-- you can help clear my name. You see, if my father…”

 

“Slow down, Miss Netal. Just because I believe you doesn’t mean that anyone else will.” A shadow of confusion flickered across her face, and DJ sighed. “Just because I gave my eye for the story and still have nightmares because of Solo doesn’t mean my word means shit.”

 

“I thought you said you hardly saw his face…” Bazine squeaked nervously as DJ furrowed his brows and scoffed.

 

“What? No. His mother. I was trying to get the scoop as to why a popular socialite went into hiding and well...no eye.” He gestured at his eyepatch in resignation, pushing on. “No, what we need is proof. Photographs.” 

 

He fixed her with his good eye, finally removing his hat to run a hand through his hair before rubbing his jaw in thought. “Do you think you could get back in there, get a picture of him?”

 

“I’m not going back there.” Bazine shivered and grimaced, feeling her skin crawl at the prospect. The reporter seemed to take it in stride, nodding thoughtfully.

 

“We’ll find someone else. How hard can it be?” He glanced back at Bazine as she scoffed at his question.

 

“They won’t let anyone walk in off the street. They have to be blue-bloods-- his curse or whatever hogwash is explaining away his fucking face says that it has to be a blue-blood. And no blue-blood isn’t going to accept any amount of money to go in and see that beast.”

 

DJ tutted at her, waving a finger, “Maybe not well-off blue-bloods. But down on their luck blue-bloods? Oh, they’re a dime a dozen.” He grinned at the heiress, ignoring the uncomfortability sitting on her upturned lips as she returned the look. The eyepatch always put people off.

 

“In that case, I think we have a deal, Mr. Toro.” Hesitantly, Bazine extended her hand to shake his, subtly wiping it along her skirt after his sweaty palm had covered hers in a solid and firm shake. 

 

Walking out of the office, Bazine couldn’t help put skip for a beat, casting a smug look over at Jessika Pava’s empty office. Once again, this Netal was getting what she wanted-- as long as there was some poor blue-blood sucker out there willing enough to risk life and limb for a picture of Ben Solo and his pig snout. 

 

Still, with one more flip of her hair, she stepped onto the rickety elevator, pushing the ground floor button with a smirk. She would be redeemed in no time.


	4. Chapter 3

DJ Toro claimed to be an expert on only a few things in his life: reporting, investigating, and, of course, sniffing out an odd story or two. After all, being a journalist it was something to be proud of. Even after he became something of the office laughingstock for insisting that Leia Solo had given birth to a bouncing baby pig boy, ask any of his fellow reporters or his editor and they’d say that he was the trustworthy sort.

 

As such, tracking down a down on her luck heiress was child’s play for him, the reporter checking his source’s directions once more before casting another look at the jazz club he found himself in front of. The First Order Bar was on the artsy side of Naboo and was managed by a black-clad hipster named Hux-- not exactly DJ’s usual wheelhouse, but tonight he’d make an exception. 

 

With a sigh, he heaved himself from the newspaper delivery van he often drove home, the echo of the slamming van door seemingly lost as soon as the First Order’s door bust open to let a few giggling wannabe Beatniks out into the damp night.

 

He didn’t intend to stay long enough to get acclimated to the dusky lighting of the place, cool blue light spilling from various overhead spots, with a white spotlight on the stage, waiting for the band to come back from their break. Still, DJ let himself order an over-priced bourbon, offering a close-lipped smile to the bartender.

 

“Do you happen to know where Mr. Hux is this evening?” DJ cleared his throat, watching the red-headed bartender suspiciously squint at him before relaxing and tossing his bar rag onto his shoulder.

 

“Mr. Hux is m’dad. Just call me Armitage.” The reporter let out a surprised snicker, the thirty-something man across from him taking it in stride, turning his attention back to a particularly deep set stain on the otherwise spotless countertop. “Something I can get you?”

 

“Just happened to wonder if you’d know the location of one Kira Kenobi. Word on the street is she considers herself a patron of the arts through your club?” DJ leaned forward, listening to Armitage snort derisively. 

 

“I think the proper term is functioning alcoholic, but yeah, she’s here.” He jerked a thumb over to his left, DJ’s gaze following it to alight on the women’s restroom door. “I think she’s having a puke, but she’ll be out soon. Can’t miss her. Pretty sure she’s the only one in there at the moment anyways.” 

 

DJ nodded at the younger man, reaching for his wallet and passing him an extra $10 bill before sliding his drink down the bar so he could sit closer to the bathroom. He had done more disgraceful things for a story, after all, and respectfully staking out a bathroom was hardly shameful at this point.

 

It took a few minutes longer than Armitage had predicted, but finally, a young woman was pushing her way through the bathroom door, hazel eyes darting around the club as she slung her purse over her shoulder. DJ hummed to himself, sizing up the presumed heiress. She certainly had fallen on some hard times, scuffed up shoes and an oversized hoodie all but swallowing her frame, but she certainly didn’t look like a drunk. 

 

He cleared his throat, calling out before she could walk past him: “Excuse me, miss.”

 

She turned on her heel to face him, the blue light of the bar making it hard to distinguish if her skin was tanned from the sun, only her freckles really standing out-- but he supposed it didn’t really matter. She was pretty, and seemed to carry herself with an innate grace that only bluebloods seemed to have, so he didn’t question it, instead smiling at her.

 

“Do I know you?” DJ chuckled apologetically at her question, replying instead.

 

“No, but I know you. Kira Kenobi, last of your family. Word is that you managed to drink away the fortune your family worked hard to build up.”

 

Kira laughed at him, actually threw back her head and guffawed, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle herself. “I think you got the wrong girl, mister.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Still, DJ watched her shake her head again, laughing. 

 

“Seriously, mister. You’re just wasting your time.”

 

“Well, would $5,000 be worth wasting your time for?” Instantly, the girl froze, just like he knew she would. No longer laughing, she fixed him with a solemn, almost offended face.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Nothing untoward or illegal,” DJ explained, seeing her shoulders relax just a bit, going on now. “I’m a reporter, and I need your blueblood connections to get a picture.”

 

“$5,000...for a picture?” She seemed to be weighing his words, crossing her arms as she thought. She licked her lips, finally turning her large hazel eyes back on his face. “Alright. Of who?”

 

“That doesn’t particularly matter at the moment,” DJ shrugged, patting his pockets for the pad of sticky notes he always kept on him, sighing as he failed to find a pen. He nearly jumped out of his skin as the girl wordlessly offered him one, nodding in thanks before jotting down an address and passing the slip of paper over.

 

“I just need you here at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning. And if anyone asks you why you’re needed at that address, just say you’re from the Knight Matchmaking Agency and they should leave you alone.” 

 

She merely nodded, shoving the paper into a pocket of the coat she had in her arms and the reporter sighed, nodding at her again before he turned to leave. “See you tomorrow, Miss Kenobi.” 

 

He barely heard her reply, the jazz band back from their break and now tuning up again, the bar’s front door bell pleasantly tinkling as he stepped out into the street. The hardest part had been dealt with. Now he just had to wait for the morning and he’d be vindicated in no time.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

Rey Jakkusun hesitantly fished the sticky note from her coat pocket, eyes ticking over the scrawled address before she shoved it away again, the bathroom door swinging open and the forty-three year old Kira Kenobi came dragging herself out.

 

“Thanks for checking on me, Rey, sunshine. Really thought I was going to die in there,” the old heiress snickered, haphazardly patting the waitress's shoulder before stumbling away for another drink.

 

“Anything for you, Kira,” Rey called after her, albeit hollowly, glancing over at Armitage, who merely shrugged at her, going  back to polishing his counter. Neither one of them would say it, but this poor little waitress needed the break that a $5,000 check would give her. 

 

And so neither of them said anything as Rey slipped out into the night to wait on the curb for her ride, wondering how to explain away the odd paper in her pocket.


	5. Chapter 4

If there was one thing Rey Jakkusun knew it was that everyone needed money for something. It was something she pondered as she reluctantly rolled from bed a few moments before her alarm sounded, leaving a wrinkled mass of sheets lumped on the floor. She padded into the kitchen, murmuring a soft hello to Rose, who wordlessly slid an empty coffee mug to her. Their routine. It would take Rose a moment, but soon, her roommate would be energetic, bright-eyed and pulling her hair up into a ponytail, chattering about what they should do on their day off from the club.

 

Ah, that’s right. The club. That’s why she was thinking about money this morning. Instead of making her usual beeline to the coffeepot, Rey leaned down, plucking up the coat she had tossed onto one of the kitchen’s stools in her bleary-headed, sleep deprived state after work. Just like she thought, her fingers found the crumpled sticky note in her pocket, the address smeared and the adhesive clinging to lint and a stray hair or two.

 

No, she hadn’t been dreaming of that odd eye-patched man who had given her a once in the lifetime opportunity, whether he knew it or not. Five thousand dollars in exchange for pretending to be someone that she wasn’t, to get a picture of someone she’d never see again. Five thousand dollars that would be split between rent for the next three months and paying that damn PI Plutt to find her family. Her reason for needing money.

 

“Did some creep give you his number?” Rey huffed a laugh at Rose’s question, looking up to see her roommate nursing her second cup of coffee. For a moment she considered lying to minimize the worry that Rose surely would work herself into, but considering that she was already lying about who she was to that reporter she figured it would be worth righting her karma to tell the truth. Passing the note over, she shook her head, finally heading to the coffee pot.

 

“No. I found an opportunity. He’s going to pay me five thousand dollars...for taking someone’s picture. Breathe, Rose,” Rey commented dryly, watching the girl opposite of her exhale with relief.

 

“A picture of who? For what?” Rose lightly scoffed at Rey’s careless shrug, watching the freckled face turn away as the girl stooped to pull open the fridge for her creamer.

 

“He’s a reporter. I didn’t ask for a lot of details. All I know is that if anyone asks, my name is Kira Kenobi, I’m from the agency, and I’m to be at 1214 Kessel Run at 9 this morning.” She toed the fridge door shut behind her, leaning against the counter next to Rose.

 

The whoop of laughter escaped Rose before she could stop it, quieting herself into snickering. “Oh my god, you’re pretending to be that rich Kenobi lady? The one who always gets drunk and tells Hux he should let her be a patron to his penis?”

 

“Apparently. I mean, it kind of makes sense-- Kessel Run is the fancy street. Old money, right? Any blue-blood, even a functional alcoholic, is welcome there.” Rey drained her mug with a sigh, glancing at Rose. “What do you say? Have a moment or ten to make me over into a blueblood, beauty guru?”

 

Rose giggled in reply, and as Rey cracked a smile, she almost forgot about the money coming her way. For the moment, this was just an excuse to play dress-up and go on an adventure. Meet new people, do young person things, be the twenty-four year old she was supposed to be. The fact that this money would be the answer to most of, if not all, of her questions and needs was irrelevant, if just for the moment.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

Rey rolled her eyes as she knocked on the back door of the odd and misshapen green van parked a block away from 1214 Kessel Run, the face of the eye-patched man popping up in the window. In a moment, the door swung open, and she was greeted with a close-mouth smile from him and the disinterested pout of a pretty blonde woman who sat next to him.

 

“Christ, Kenobi, you clean up well.” The reporter--DJ, she was sure-- nodded in approval, snapping his fingers at the blonde, who reluctantly passed him a blazer. Rey knew by the look of it that she’d never be able to afford it, even on clearance, her eyes rapt on the silk lined garment as DJ muttered out an explanation.

 

“Alright. So there’s a camera hidden on the lapel, and the rigging is in the sleeve. All you have to do to take a picture is lift either arm.” Passing it over, he watched the girl inspect it before donning it, catching her little smile as she lifted her arm, as if to test it. The camera shutter clicked loudly, and he sighed. “Not now.”

 

“So who exactly am I taking a picture of?” Rey asked, crossing her arms, raising an eyebrow as the blonde blurted out:

 

“Not who. What. You’re taking a picture of a pig-faced monster.” If Rose hadn’t generously filled her eyebrows in with that makeup gel, Rey was sure they would have touched her hairline, DJ cutting a look at the woman next to him.

 

“Kira, this is Bazine Netal. Our generous benefactoress,” he muttered, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as Bazine extended a hand, as if she was a queen and expecting Rey to kiss her rings.

 

Instead, Rey awkwardly shook the proffered hand, not bothering to hide how she wiped her palm against her skirt. “Charmed,” she mumbled, ignoring the sour look the heiress gave her.

 

DJ chuckled, shooing her off now. “Enough introductions. Time to work your stuff. There’s already a group of ladies who went in from the agency and if you dawdle, it’ll be suspicious. Go on.”

 

Jerking her head down in a nod, Rey turned, dutifully slipping past the van and all but marching the one block that separated her and whatever she was supposed to photograph. Anything for a quick buck, she mused, approaching the grand front gate and quelling the nervous awe working itself in her gut.

  
  
  


She managed to make it into the front hall without stumbling and betraying how very much she didn’t belong her, but then she made the mistake of swinging around and stepping backwards, to take a peek at the giant glass chandelier hanging overhead and instead collided with a particularly tall woman with a well manicured blonde pixie cut and red lacquered lips. 

 

Rey caught herself before she cursed, knowing that any blueblood worth their salt had a polite mouth, stooping down to pick up the papers that had spilled from the other woman’s arms. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. Let me get those for you.”

 

She forced herself to keep her hands moving, plucking up papers and gathering them into a semi-cohesive pile, as she felt the woman’s eyes fix on her and a question being asked.

 

“And who are you?” 

 

Rey took the risk, looking up and feigning the confidence she did not feel. “I’m Kira Kenobi. The agency sent me… Ms. Phasma.” A quick look at the blonde woman’s lapel gave her a semblance of knowing who and what she was here for, a small test that she seemed to pass as Phasma opened her mouth and then closed it, accepting her papers back.

 

“Oh. Right, the agency.” Phasma scribbled a note on her clipboard, muttering ‘Kenobi’ under her breath. In a moment, she was passing a file folder and a pen to Rey, smile tense.

 

“Well, good morning, Miss Kenobi. We’ll just be needing your signature and initials on this waiver.” The matchmaker seemed to sigh with relief at Rey taking it and signing it without any questions, which made the girl wonder what the usual questions were. 

 

Still, Rey had barely passed the forms back when Phasma was pushing her up the stairs, speaking a mile a minute. “Now, there are several other young ladies already here, since our Benjamin is a shy one and wanted to see if he’d be more comfortable meeting everyone at once. Don’t worry though; I’m sure he has a plan to get to know you personally.”

 

They drew closer to a door, Phasma grabbing the handle and hesitating for a moment, before looking at Rey, full in the face. “I really do hope that you stay a little while. He really is a nice guy.”

 

Then, without further ado, Rey was pushed through the now open door, tempted to turn to ask Phasma what she meant before the door was slammed in her face. With the slam, the room quieted, and she turned to see the room crowded with about twenty other women, all with slightly surprised, if not aloof, expressions as they considered the most recent addition. Before she could wish herself invisible though, the women were turning away, chattering again, and Rey’s relief whooshed from her as quickly as the discomfort had flooded her.

 

The room that Phasma had left her--and the other women callers, she supposed-- was worth more than her apartment probably, with several bookcases lining the walls, various knick-knacks tastefully placed among the collection. A few feet in front of the door was a cream colored couch that definitely cost more than her futon at home, and across from it was a large mirror hanging over the fireplace, and then another half bookshelf completing that wall. All in all, something she wouldn’t have dreamed of seeing outside of a movie.

 

She gingerly stepped away from the door, taking a moment to adjust the blazer, hissing to herself in surprise as the camera shutter sounded, once, twice, and then thrice. While Rey was sure that DJ hadn’t sent her in with only enough film for five photos, she didn’t want to risk burning through the whole roll before the main event, ducking behind the sofa and fiddling madly with the contraption in her jacket lapel.

 

Rey swore that she was only behind the couch for a moment before a door seemed to swing open, the other ladies fell into silence, and she cursed herself again, debating how she should proceed to stand without awkwardly making it known that she had been hiding, like a troll, behind the furniture.

 

There was a beat, and she strained to hear, a deep and almost dark voice mumbling, “Hello.” 

 

Another beat, and the voice spoke again, “I’m Ben, and you are…?”

 

If anyone had tried answering him, Rey wasn’t sure, a shriek going up and then suddenly a stampede of Jimmy Choos and Louboutins was pounding their way to the door. She cowered behind the couch now, gasping with disbelief at one society girl all but diving over the couch in her haste to leave.

 

Over the commotion, she still heard that dark voice again, now tinged with laughter and a touch of exasperation, “Late for tea?” She barely heard the door close behind him over the screams echoing in the foyers, and she was sure that if she looked out one of the windows, she’d see a stream of women fleeing.

 

Well, that was all very well and good, but Rey Jakkusun wasn’t the type to flee, a notion that she internally groaned as she pushed herself off the floor, checking herself for any dust and debris that had possibly muddled up her clothes in light of her competitors’ escape.

 

Rey scoffed to herself at the empty room, rounding the couch to sit on the plush cushions. She waited a moment, wondering when the door would swing open again, when she would be told to get out, that the Solo boy wasn’t seeing anyone today after all. There was only silence to greet her, and she sighed now.

 

“I don’t mind waiting,” She called out loudly, just in case someone--really, anyone-- would hear her and respond. She crossed her arms and settled back, content that she was telling the truth at the moment. She didn’t mind waiting. 

 

Especially if waiting meant that she could change her life… no, she didn’t mind waiting at all.


	6. Chapter 5

If one was to see Leia Solo in the society columns at any given time of her life, they would say that she looked in control, even when she was smiling brightly at some charity function or high society tea. They would be correct in that assumption, which was something Leia was proud of. No matter what, no matter the oddness of the circumstances, she was in control.

 

Always had been, always would be. Well, if one would discount the year or so following her son’s birth. Or really, the entire time her son had been alive and living in this world.

 

She did her best to be in control, and to be the loving mother he needed her to be, and usually, she’d say that she did a very good job at it. After all, she protected him from the press, even taking out one reporter’s eye after he surprised her by jumping out of the family pantry. She made sure that he was well-educated, that he was sociable. And really, he was handsome, if one overlooked the nose.

 

That being said, it certainly wasn’t lost on Leia that Ben had her stubbornness and that, like it or not, he was trying to get some control too...even if it meant undermining her efforts to break the curse.

 

Her husband, Han, really was of no help. He, like Ben, didn’t understand how unsafe it was to let Ben out into the public eye without the curse broken. Neither of them seemed to understand how vital it was to her that she fixed the mess her father had made, and how difficult it would be for all of them. They just needed to keep their hope up.

 

After all, she had kept her hope up for thirty years now, and she certainly wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.

 

But still, she understood the need for control. So this particular day, when Ben had informed her that he wished to meet multiple girls from the matchmaking agency, instead of one at a time, she had quickly agreed to his wishes. True, she didn’t understand the reasoning-- all he had said as an explanation was “I’m weeding out the unlikelies,”-- but given that Han and Ben had refused to move after the Netal girl had her “delusions of a pig-faced man” splashed across the morning paper, she was admittedly at the end of her rope.

 

However, she hadn’t anticipated that Ben’s plan of “weeding out the unlikelies” more so meant “scaring the ever-loving god into every bachelorette to be found” by popping out of his hidden bookcase door and introducing himself face to face. Her son wasn’t exactly known for his subtlety, and watching the poor girls flee from the closed circuit tv they kept in the kitchen was enough to send her blood pressure rocketing.

 

Ben, however, didn’t seem too perturbed, whistling to himself as he descended the back staircase into the kitchen and promptly making a beeline to the snack cupboard. Still, she whirled on him.

 

“How could you?!” 

 

Ben merely rolled his eyes at the question, muttering, “Just speeding things up,” as he opened a new bag of chips and reached for a box of snack cakes. 

 

Leia gritted her teeth, watching her son rip open a package of cupcakes, halfway through a bite now as she hissed, “So instead you’re making a pig of yourself.”

 

“That’s already been done for me, so thanks for that.” With a growl, Leia swatted the cupcake out of his hand, her son returning her glare with his own.

 

There was a pause, a simmering silence, but neither truly had the chance to speak before Phasma heaved a long-suffering sigh, noting “Those were the last of the cupcakes. Whoever goes to the store, pick me up some scotch.”

 

“That will probably be Maz, seeing that my own mother is too afraid of me leaving the house. What’s the worst that could happen, mom? I walk too close to the butcher’s and I end up as tomorrow’s lunch special?”

 

Leia pinched the bridge of her nose, fending off a headache before staring at Ben, wondering if this was what exhaustion felt like. “Just one girl, Ben. That’s all you need-- just one…”

 

“And she’ll run away too! Jesus Christ, mom, don’t you get it?” Ben’s nostrils flared as his lip quivered, the closest she’d probably see her son cry. “They always run. It’s been twelve years that I’ve had to watch them run, and it will never change!”

 

“We can’t give up now. Ben, we’re so close. I can feel it,” Leia knew that she was pleading, watching her son shake his head.

 

“No, mom. Look, I’d like to believe that there’s one girl out there who wouldn’t run, but let’s face it, there’s not--” Ben paused, his brows furrowing and his attention immediately elsewhere, eyes trained somewhere over Leia’s shoulder.

 

She looked back, following his eyes to the television monitor where...there was a girl. Sitting alone in the library, prim and proper, glancing around as if she was waiting. Waiting for Ben.

 

“Sweet loving force of everything in this world,” Leia breathed, a swell of pride working itself back into her as she and Phasma huddled closer to the screen, wide eyes not leaving the figure onscreen. Over their shoulders, Ben was peering, skeptical and gobsmacked.

 

“Did she see?” Leia huffed at the question, flicking her hand at Ben. 

 

“Who cares? Just go!” 

 

“But--”

 

“Just go!” Phasma echoed her now as Ben heaved an annoyed sigh, turning on his heel to stomp his way up the backstairs once more. Leia turned back to the screen, wondering if there was a tear working itself into the corner of her eye.

 

“Oh, Phasma. There  _ is  _ still hope.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love and kindness, both on Tumblr and here! I'm really happy with this story and how happy it's making anyone/everyone, so I couldn't help but write another chapter ASAP. (Shout out to The Ginger Irritant and Pythia Speaks for reading through this chapter ASAP. I love you.)

Ben was aware that he had several of his mother’s traits in him, no matter how often he wished to forget. 

 

Her stubbornness? Check.

Her inability to let things go? Check.

Her utter dislike of being proven wrong? Check, check, and double check.

 

So the fact that he was trudging back up to his room to hold court for the one girl who was either too dumb or too brave to run away had him a bit resentful. He had enough of his father in him to admit that. 

 

He didn’t want to feel the excitement trying to flood his stomach with butterflies as he slipped into his armchair by the mirror, watching this woman push herself off the couch and over to one of the bookshelves, looking at a particular book with interest. So much interest in fact, that she slipped it into her blazer.

 

Despite himself, Ben smirked.  _ Well, that certainly was a new move. Straight for the bookshelf and not the mirror, and not even the bookshelf to read anything..but to steal. _

 

The words were coming out of his mouth before he could stop them, his voice practically booming into the small library. “I’m guessing that book is a favorite of yours?”

 

The woman cursed, jumping away from the bookcase, the hardcover tucked away in her jacket falling with a smack onto the floor. Ben bit back a laugh as the girl chuckled guiltily, bending now to pick the book up.

 

“I was wondering when you’d come back.” Ben opened his mouth to call bullshit on the statement, but the girl pushed on. “And yes, it’s a favorite. I read it all the time when growing up.”

 

Her face seemed so open, freckles innocently sprinkled across it, hazel eyes so wide and honest, that Ben almost believed her. Except… “Funny, I thought that was the only copy in existence.”

 

She laughed again, and Ben almost hated how welcome the sound was, watching her inspect the book closer. “Y’know, now that I think of it, the librarian always said they were waiting for it to come back in. I guess I was too busy with  _ Anna Karenina  _ and  _ The Scarlet Letter _ to realize that they never had.. ah... _ Secret of The Mug. _ ” 

 

He didn’t stop the snicker from slipping out, watching the girl’s brows furrow and her lips curl at the odd title. “So why did you pick it up? Seeing that you picked it out of a decent collection.”

 

“It looked like the most interesting book.” She seemed to be trying to find where his voice was coming from, wandering around the room now, knocking on a bookcase to see if it was secretly hollow. For a moment, Ben felt his heart seize in apprehension, wondering if she’d find his secret door, but then she zeroed in on the microphone on the fireplace mantel, and let herself drift to it.

 

“You mean the most expensive,” he snarked back, rolling his eyes at her chuckle.

 

“Can you blame me? College was too expensive, even for someone like me.” She leaned into the microphone, jokingly enunciating her words: “Sue me, I’m poor by your standards.”

 

“My standards? You mean my parents’.” Ben snorted, crossing his arms. “You could steal any book in that library and I wouldn’t stop you.”

 

“Oh? And what book should I steal?” Her eyes finally found the mirror, and he saw a twinkle there, his heart banging in his chest as if she was staring straight at him. His heart then gave a squeeze and then a tumble, watching her self-consciously inspect the dark bruises of under-eye bags and then sigh. For a moment, he considered telling her that she looked fine, but he remembered he wasn’t there to actually make friends. He was there to scare her away. 

 

After all, it didn’t hurt when they ran if he didn’t like them.

 

Instead, he cleared his throat, noting, “There are about 200 volumes worth $100,000 each in this library; 100 worth about $250,000 each; and only one worth almost $100.” He caught her sly look, and wondered if she was truly about to run out with a book or three stashed under her coat.

 

“One worth only $100? Is that right?” She drawled, her British accent a bit more pronounced and clearer, and he wondered how desperate the matchmaking agency had gotten to go intercontinental with their choices.

 

“That’s right. A little book, written by a little nobody, who never amounted to anything in his life.” Satisfied at how the girl’s eyes darted about, he leaned back, closing his eyes, as if that’s what she needed to escape. 

 

“But it’s your favorite all the same.” Ben jolted up with her words, seeing the little book held aloft in her hands, before she brought it down to investigate it again. “ _ Secret of The Mug.  _ Your favorite, and therefore just as valuable as the rest.”

 

“How did you know?” His voice seemed to be a lot harsher than he intended it, but the man just stared, befuddled. How  _ did  _ she know?

 

And the girl. All she did was smirk at him, setting the book down on the mantel almost smugly. He sighed in acquiescence, nodding to himself as if she had won a secret bet they had made when he had walked back in.

 

“Third bookshelf, second shelf.  _ Lolita.  _ It’s signed by Nabokov himself. Should take care of a decent chunk of student loans. All yours.” Her look towards the mirror was now suspicious, her arms crossing.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Of course. Just wait until I’m gone, or else they’ll see you.” Ben smiled to himself, walking towards his bedroom door, ignoring her cry of confusion. Pulling the door open and then throwing it shut again, he had to force himself to creep towards the mirror quietly instead of dashing straight back to see what she would do. 

 

In the room, seemingly alone again, the girl sucked in a breath of air, counting the bookshelves to herself before she located the right one, plucking the offered book from it. In a moment, she was tucking it into her coat, leisurely strolling to the door without a backwards glance. 

 

Ben listened to the footsteps sound hollowly in the hall, and then, as if he wouldn’t hear it, an about turn and the skittering of heels on the hardwood as she threw herself back into the doorway, a grin on her face, and a childish exclamation sounding from her lips. “ _ Gotcha!”  _

 

Seeing the room still empty, without him, seemed to deflate the girl, who seemed to be chuckling almost sadly, trying to rid herself of the adrenaline that came with trying to surprise him. Like she had actually wanted to  _ see him.  _ “No?” She called, heaving a breath and turning back to the door again, almost defeated. 

 

Seeing her like that, Ben couldn’t help but blurt out, “Will you be back tomorrow?”

 

“I knew you were still here!” The girl crowed, spinning around, grin still intact. She giggled, as if she could see how his ears flushed with pleasure, and nodded, maybe more to herself. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be back.”

 

When she walked back out, he didn’t expect her to come back again. It seemed that she had made it down a few steps before doubling back, as if she had forgotten something. “By the way, Ben… I’m Re--- Kira. I’m Kira. Kira Kenobi. It was nice to meet you.”

 

Ben didn’t know what to say, or even remember how to speak, the door shutting behind her long before he figured out what this odd feeling was. Perhaps not a feeling, but a realization: This was the longest he had gone without thinking of his nose, or the curse. Stubbornly, he fought the smile trying to perch on his lips, biting the inside of his cheek instead. Still, there was a distinctly bubbly feeling in his stomach, and he was almost glad that he had listened to his mother. 

Just this once though. Never again.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

Rey almost felt punch drunk as she stumbled out of the mansion and down the block. The van door was open when she got to it, DJ looking at her expectantly. “Did you get the photo?”

 

She didn’t even care about his disappointed look as she shook her head absentmindedly. Maybe more for her benefit than DJ’s, she murmured, “I’m going back tomorrow.”

 

DJ chuckled ruefully, mumbling, “You better” as Rey passed the rigged jacket back and accepted her own. As the van pulled away now, she jammed her hands in her pocket, smiling to herself as she started her trek home. 

 

Maybe one day, if Ben asked her how she knew which book was his favorite she’d confess that he had said as much in a childish scrawl, seemingly from years before. In the meantime, she’d pretend that it was fate and maybe even pretend that he was re-reading it tonight, be it in the bathtub or right before he fell asleep. 

 

For a man with no face, he was on her mind for the rest of the day, even while she mopped up the real Kira Kenobi’s puke at the club’s closing time. It was her secret, one that made her feel like a fairytale character. She just had to wait to figure out what the magical twist really was.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, so much love and thanks to my betas, The Ginger Irritant and Pythia Speaks. 
> 
> Important reader note: Unless specified, when Ben talks about "Kira," he means Rey. (Mistaken/stolen identity stuff can be confusing to write, y'all-- I had to rewrite this chapter twice because I confused myself.)
> 
> Comments and kudos are so appreciated and keep me motivated to write as fast as I can! ;)

Ben rarely dressed up for anything, much to his mother’s chagrin. It was an argument that continued on and off throughout the years, with Ben’s point winning out every time: “It’s not like it matters what I wear-- I never leave the house anyways.”  Eventually, he had agreed to dress up before he met any of his suitors in person; otherwise, he lived in sweatpants.

 

So the fact that he actually came down to breakfast in a button down and pressed slacks had Leia exchanging a sly look over her teacup at Han, who, possessing the subtlety of a gaudy old car, commented, “Did you actually brush your hair for once too?”

 

“Even better-- I took a shower too.” Ben quipped, pressing a kiss to his mother’s hair before pouring himself a cup of coffee. He tried to roll his eyes at how his mother chirped about him being in a good mood for once, but she was right. He was. It was an odd feeling.

 

True, he had spent an awkward two minutes looking in the shower after shaving, large hand covering his snout, trying to picture a nose that wasn’t his on his face. One that Kira would like. One that wouldn’t get in the way if she tried to kiss him.

 

He shook himself out of that thought process, scoffing himself. Way to jump the gun. Just because the girl actually was interesting didn’t mean she wouldn’t run. He knew that all too well.

 

Still, when Phasma told him that Kira was waiting in the library for him, he didn’t deny the small jolt of confidence carried him up the stairs. It was easier to focus on that than how his stomach was crumpling into a bundle of nerves.

 

She was toying with the chess board on the library’s coffee table when he sunk into his armchair behind the mirror, and the relief that flooded him almost seemed ridiculous. She had said she would be back, and she was. It shouldn’t have been such a pleasant surprise, but after watching people leave again and again, Ben was used to people saying one thing and doing another.

 

Kira didn’t look up from the board, dryly commenting, “Good morning, Ben.” For a moment, the man wondered if Phasma had decided to expedite the process and switch the mirror for an actual window, opening his mouth to ask before the girl continued, noting, “Your tread is super heavy and your floors seem to be hardwood.”

 

Glancing up, she smiled at the mirror, the closed lips cracking into a grin at his chuckle. “Alright. You caught me. Good morning, Kira.”

 

He watched her eyes slip back down to the game board in front of her, and it took him a moment to realize that there seemed to be something amiss. His exclamation seemed to take her off guard, her head snapping up at him blurting, “You’re not wearing makeup today.”

 

Kira laughed almost nervously, raising her hands in mock surrender. “You caught me slipping. I woke up late this morning and barely had time for a shower, let alone makeup. I didn’t even have breakfast.”

 

“Do you want breakfast?” Ben nearly slapped a hand against his forehead, wondering when he had turned into his mother, offering little bits of hospitality at the drop of a hat. Apparently Kira thought it odd too, raising an eyebrow before pushing herself off the couch and to the fireplace mantel.

 

She folded her arms on the ledge, resting her head on the little nest she had formed there, looking up at him. The intensity of her stare almost unnerved him, his ears pricking with heat, until there was a guttural noise and she sighed, defeated and embarrassed. “I think my stomach spoke for me. I’d love some breakfast.”

 

Ben caught himself before he fully turned, realizing that his body had nearly taken the lead to wander down to the kitchen and get her food himself. He swallowed thickly, mumbling, “Okay. I’ll call Maz and see if she can bring up a plate. We had eggs Benedict this morning. And fruit. But if you want something else, all you have to do is ask and…”

 

“Ben.” He stopped, all but biting his tongue in half as his head swiveled to look at Kira’s amused smile. “Eggs Benedict sounds great. I’m not picky, honestly.”

 

He took a deep breath, nodding to himself. “Okay. In the meantime…do you play? Chess, I mean.”

 

Kira chuckled, turning away to trail to the board, bringing it back and balancing it on the ledge. “It’s been a while, but if you can remind me of the main parts, I can probably kick your butt at it.”

 

“Oh, you’re on.”

**.** **.** **.** **  
  
**

Kira was better at chess than she let on, even if she had to be reminded which piece was which, at one point muttering, “Okay, but if this was checkers, I’d totally be in my element.”

 

Ben lost track of how many games they played, the scores getting lost in lieu of their conversation. Even when they paused so she could eat, her appetite ravenous, they continued chattering, as if they were best friends, not courting each other. It was new, it was odd, it was unlike anything he had dealt with when it came to the other suitors. Then again, she wasn’t pushing for him to come out from behind the mirror, instead asking him questions that no one really had thought to ask him before. Like she actually wanted to get to know him.

 

And he answered her questions without hesitation, as honestly as he could. At least, he did, until she asked the one question he had been dreading.

 

"So, let's be real. Why the mirror? Why the hiding?" Ben's breath caught in his throat, glancing back towards the mirror, where Kira was twiddling with the Knight piece.

 

There was no way to tell this beautiful woman _I have a pig nose and it's just better if you don't see me. Because I actually kind of like you._ "It's because I'm ugly." He said it lightly, clearing his throat. "Bishop to Knight seven."

 

She huffed a laugh, moving the piece before looking at the mirror, as if to find him. "C'mon, you're probably not that bad looking."

 

"You were here when a bunch of other women ran out of here screaming. I'm pretty sure that I am that bad looking." He said flatly, watching Kira move a pawn, more interested in his answer than her move.

 

"Yeah, but there's a bunch of rich guys who are ugly and parade themselves around. Like Donald Trump since forever." She wrinkled her nose at him, continuing, "So what makes you think you're ugly? There's gotta be a reason."

 

"I don't like my nose," Ben muttered, wondering if he just won first prize for understatement of the year.

 

"But you like everything else?" Kira was definitely ignoring the chess board now, looking at the mirror as if he'd manifest.

 

"I suppose so." He wanted to run away, her gaze keeping him in his seat.

 

"Well, tell me about the rest of you then. Since I can't see you."

 

Ben hesitated, feeling more self-conscious than usual. "Fine. But you can't laugh at me."

 

“I promise I won’t laugh at you. There’s nothing to laugh at.” Her hazel eyes seemed to greener in the light as she leaned forward. “I promise.”

 

Ben took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to say. He hadn’t thought of his appearance before. Not past the nose, anyways. “I’m, um, about six foot and a couple inches, I think. I have black hair that I should probably cut soon.”

 

“How long is your hair?” Kira asked, a small smile peeking out from behind her hand as she rested her chin against her crossed arms. He chuckled at the question, fingering his hair and pulling it straight to figure out the answer.

 

“It’s halfway down my neck. Not to my shoulders, but still kinda long. I have brown eyes and I guess my body is okay.”

 

“Do you work out? Or are you secretly an old man with a young voice?” Ben scoffed at her question, ignoring how his ears warmed with her laughter.

 

“I’m only thirty. And I fence, so I guess I work out.” Kira straightened up in surprise at that answer, leaning forward eagerly.

 

“You fence? Holy shit, I thought rich people only did that in movies.”

 

“Well, besides the fact that I’m behind this mirror, trust me when I say that I’m basically a cliché. I had my own private tutor growing up. And a personal shopper.” Ben jokingly bragged, snickering with Kira as she laughed.

 

“Wow, you basically don’t have to leave the house, huh?” Ben felt himself go still at the question, his breathing suddenly loud in his ears, as if he was scared to answer the question. Even if she was just joking.

 

Kira looked stricken the moment she commented, looking at the mirror as if to read his face, try and figure out if she said something wrong. “You do leave the house, right, Ben?”

 

Her voice was so small, and for once, Ben wanted to lie and say that he left the house all the time. But then, well, then he’d have to explain to her later why he didn’t want to leave the house if she asked him to. If she begged him to.

 

So instead, he shook his head, voice raspy from his constricted throat: “No. No, I don’t. It’s not safe…with my condition.”

 

If he was scared of disappointing her, of putting her off, Kira didn’t show it, instead nodding thoughtfully before glancing back down at the chessboard. “I think it’s your turn, Ben.”

 

He wanted to be grateful that she didn’t ask more about his condition, that she didn’t poke and prod and pry like other women had. Still, watching her face, Ben swallowed down the desire to explain the oddity in detail, to explain that it wasn’t a big deal. That he could still make her happy if she wanted him to.

 

Instead, he looked down at the board, clearing his throat. “Knight to your queen. Checkmate.”


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Double update! So much love to my betas (The Ginger Irritant and Pythia Speaks) for reading through everything and letting me know what to fix and what they love. Love y'all.
> 
> And thank you all for reading this! I'm really appreciative of every kudo and comment (though I do have to catch up replying to comments because I've been busy writing/doing homework). Seriously though, every comment and kudo pushes me to write more, and I love and cherish every one. Thank you all!

Rey wasn’t sure at what point she had crossed the line of not being too interested in taking the photos for DJ, but she knew that she been far past the line by the time that Ben admitted that he never left the house. She couldn’t truly wrap her head around it, but instead of asking him more, she kept her mouth shut, chattering instead about her friends, about her college years, sensing a bit of longing from Ben.

 

If she could, she would have happily given him any experience that he wanted, trying her best not to outright coax him. “So the best beer in town, hands down, is at Cloverdilly’s. Their on-tap house brew is a downright masterpiece. You haven’t lived if you haven’t had it.”

 

Ben snorted, the sound almost reverberating through the mirror. “I doubt it. I’ve had beer before, and it’s not much to write home about.”

 

“Well, have you had beer on-tap?” She couldn’t see his face, but she knew that he was weighing his answer, hearing his sullen ‘no’ and trying not to smile too wide. “In that case, you really can’t say that.”

 

“What if I asked you to go to Cloverdilly’s and bring me back a beer?” His earnest request had Rey giggling, shaking her head.

 

“Oh, it’s not the same like that. It’s not just a drink. It’s an experience.”  She could sense him leaning forward in interest now, and she wondered when the last time she had such a rapt audience, pushing her hair over her shoulder before continuing.

 

“For instance, if you go with me, I’d sit you in the best spot in the bar—at the counter, in the corner, so you can watch the door and swing around to watch everyone else. People watching while having a beer is the only way to do it, because no one cares about you looking as long as you don’t care either. Plus, in the corner, you’re at the very end, and Finn, the bartender, always will slide the beer towards you, like you’re in  _ Cheers  _ or something. Like you’ve always been there.”

 

Rey caught herself almost getting misty-eyed; after all, when she had first rolled into town, all those years ago, only sixteen years old, the bar was the first place she had stopped off at. She had left with a job and a new friend. Finn, after all, was the one who had introduced her to Rose, his girlfriend and her roommate now. They had given her direction in life when she didn’t have it, as well as a family before she could really look for her own.

 

She shook herself out of her reverie, hearing Ben murmur, “I’d like to go someday.”

 

“Why not today?” There was a flutter in her stomach, a small hope… and that was promptly shattered by his burst of laughter.

 

“Yeah, no. Not with my face. Your move, I think.” Even though she couldn’t see him, Rey couldn’t resist glaring at the mirror.

 

“Why not? I’ll be your guide. Everyone knows me there. They wouldn’t give you crap. You probably look fine, anyways. You’re rich and noble, and all of you guys look like princes anymore.”

 

“I said no, Kira.” His reply, so flat and so clearly saying  _ end of discussion,  _ jolted her. There was a bitter taste in the back of her throat, and she couldn’t decide if it was because he was refusing to go out despite wanting to so bad and so obviously, or because, well, she wasn’t Kira. She wasn’t a blueblood, and whatever he needed a blueblood for…well, she wouldn’t be able to do shit for him.

 

Still, she quietly considered his reply, turning away from the topic; but just barely. "So are all your siblings stuck behind a one way mirror, or is it just because you're your mum's favorite?" Rey surveyed the chess board again, eyes flicking up when he spoke, as if she was trying to find him still.

 

"I'm an only child. My parents... Well, after my condition became apparent, I don't think they wanted to take a risk and try again. Knight to L4." Ben sighed, as if he wasn’t sure if he understood his family’s decisions or if there was something else to it. Something more that he wouldn’t tell her about. Not this visit, anyways.

 

He seemed to chuckle now as Rey sighed, dutifully moving the piece and setting aside one of her pawns. She could sense his curiosity, his voice low as he asked, "What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

 

"Nope." Her lips popped on the p, and her brows were furrowed in such a way that she wasn't sure if she was fighting down a lump in her throat or trying to decide how to checkmate him without cheating. She settled for the latter, staring at the board as if it’d solve her problems for the moment.

 

Ben remained silent, almost like he was stunned, and Rey wondered what he had pictured in his head. If he had imagined her as a little girl, running around with an older sister and maybe two brothers, earning her tawny freckles under the sun on some family estate. Almost how she imagined it. She cleared her throat, instead murmuring:

 

"I mean, I used to imagine having a sibling or two, but I reckon not, since my parents dumped me on the Tube platform in London when I was five. 'S alright though. I made it to the States in time to get my arse kicked by a mystery man behind a mirror."

 

"I'm... I'm sorry, Kira." His using her fake name twisted itself hard in her gut, and she had to focus back on the board, feeling the threat of tears nipping at her eyelids. As long as he didn’t ask her how she could be an heiress without a set of parents, as long as he allowed her to keep coming back, Rey supposed that she would be satisfied, chuckling now.

 

"Unless you specially requested my parents to leave me on platform 12, you have nothing to be sorry about. Checkmate, sire." Her smile didn't reach her eyes at first, but then Ben silently cursed, wondering aloud how he hadn’t seen that coming, and she snickered.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

Even when she walked back out onto the street, no photo once again, her mind replayed the sound of Ben’s voice, wondering how it’d sound if he was shouting over the busy din of the bar during happy hour. For that, she allowed herself to detour, stopping by Cloverdilly’s for a moment, a thought in her mind.

 

The matchmaker’s face was surprised when Rey knocked on the mansion’s door again, and the girl passed over the carry-out cup quickly, hesitating. “Tell him to drink it as soon as he can, because the foam is melting into the rest of it…and, ah, if he wants to tell me what he thinks about the beer before I come back tomorrow, my number is on the cup. Thanks.”

 

Rey tried not to think of how lamely she had nodded at Phasma, who promised that she’d tell Ben just that before shutting the door. Still, the thought lingered in her head as she dragged herself through another shift at the club, phone on silent in her apron pocket, even when Hux told her that she could check “if her boyfriend had texted her yet” as she sliced extra lemons for the drink special that night.

 

She was glad she waited, she supposed, the message notification almost a sweet relief as she waited for Rose to join her once the club closed, her hands cradling the phone in the cold night air.

 

_ Hey, it’s Ben. You were right. This is a good beer, but I think it could be better... maybe the atmosphere was all wrong. Thank you though. See you tomorrow? _

 

Plenty of responses flooded her mind. Questions about how the rest of his day was, questions about visiting him without the monetary obligation hanging over her head. Questions of if he liked her, if he would be alright with her not being a blueblood.

 

Instead, she only typed “yes” and sent the text off, picturing the little missive flying over her head and to him. Something to tide her over until the next morning. Something to help her pretend that all of this was actually real, like she wanted it to be.

 


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you all so much for your patience-- it's been a crazy and busy semester at college, with a lot of changes to deal with. I'm really glad that I had the chance to update this weekend, and hopefully I'll cover some ground and make up for the wait.
> 
> All the love to my beta reader and cheerleader, The Ginger Irritant! 
> 
> Also, thank you for the comments! They lift me up so much and honestly motivate me to write faster and better. So thank you!

In the 12 years of “dating” he had undergone, Ben had never kept any mementos. Oh sure, there was a sliver of glass he jokingly held on to from the first girl who had made a swift exit through a window after seeing him, but the plastic carry away beer cup from Kira?

 

Well, he'd be a liar if he claimed that it was anywhere but his bedside table. His mother had scolded him for keeping trash when she had seen the cup originally, but then quieted after seeing the scrawled phone number and how his ears pinked now when Kira was announced every day. 

 

His mother could catch onto things sometimes. However, Ben did envy his mother for one thing at the moment, and it was her ability to hatch plans. 

 

Every day, for about a week, he had stared at that plastic cup and wracked his brain for a proper way to thank Kira. True, he thanked her every day she had come to visit, her cheeks never failing to blush as she told him it wasn't a problem for the umpteenth time. And that was before he considered the whole fact that he had her number now.

 

However, slowly but surely, an idea did come to him, albeit at 1:32 in the morning, the moon still shining silver on the newly turned Sunday.

 

When he texted her,  _ How do you feel about being athletic tomorrow? _ , he hadn't expected a response so quickly. Indeed, he had barely been thirty seconds into cursing himself and his slightly suggestive text when her reply came flying back, his phone buzzing.

 

_ Like yoga? _

 

_ More like fencing,  _ he typed back, smiling as his phone buzzed again.

 

_ You'll have to teach me. _

 

**..........**

 

Understandably, Leia nearly had a stroke when Ben announced his plan that morning, his eyes bright despite the mere five hours of sleep he had managed. He almost forgot about his nose, his condition, just thinking about Kira's reaction to him stepping out from behind the mirror, until Han muttered to Leia:

 

“Calm down. Ben will be wearing a fencing mask anyways. It’ll be fine.”

 

_ Oh. That's right _ , Ben mused, pushing himself away from the table with a mumbled excuse, trekking up the stairs to suit up. Phasma hadn't arrived for the day, seeing that it was Sunday and her day off, but he supposed it was a nice compromise. Kira wouldn't see his face--not for a while yet-- but he could at least greet her at the door.

 

He just about fell down the stairs when the doorbell rang, a bit thankful that he had suited up now rather than later, the white padded fabric of the fencing suit cushioning his slight collision against the bannister. Still, there he was, scrambling like a nervous little kid to get to the door, thankful that there was the tightly woven black mesh covering his flushing face as he pulled the door open, Kira jumping back with surprise as he loomed over her.

 

There was a pause, a beat of silence, and Ben’s stomach lurched, the moment all too familiar.  _ She’ll run in just a second, just you wait…  _ A voice in his head noted sourly, but Ben kept his eyes trained on Kira, heart thudding in his ears. Another second, and then her eyebrow quirked with her lips.

 

“Ben?” She smiled up at him, practically beamed, and all of his breath left his lungs in a grateful  _ whoosh.  _ She hadn’t run away. Sure, she hadn’t seen his face, but she hadn’t run away.

 

And if he wasn’t so embarrassingly breathless as she smiled at him, her freckles all the more noticable against her smooth lightly tanned skin, he would have properly thanked whatever god was responsible for that. Instead, he just nodded vigorously, the headpiece and mask oddly bobbing with his movements.

 

Kira laughed, flinging her arms out wide, and before Ben could really even process what she was doing, she was hugging him, her head seeming to find the crook of his neck all too naturally, her squeeze light and yet...more than he had received in years.

 

She pulled back before he could really relish the feeling, before his hands could come to rest against her back in reciprocation, but there was that smile again, and was that a flush staining her cheeks? 

 

“You smell really good,” she murmured, taking a step forward as he stumbled back to let her in. Ben cleared his throat, wondered if he even remembered how to speak English at this point. That didn’t bode well, seeing that he was supposed to be teaching her to fence.

 

Then she slid her hand into one of his as if it was the most natural thing in the world and he decided that the risk of dying in a fencing accident was well worth it, if for nothing more than this.

 

“C’mon. Let me introduce you to my captors. They’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

* * *

 

Rey hadn’t ever made it to the ‘meet the parents’ stage of dating, and there would be some part of her asking her if this counted if she wasn’t busy trying to still her all too quick pulse. The rational side of her could argue that her heart was fluttering from the fear of being found out, but no, that was not it. It had something more to do with the heat of Ben’s hand through the fencing glove, how spicy and sweet he smelled and how oblivious he seemed to be about the whole situation.

 

She was more than a little grateful for the long and seemingly endless hallway that separated the foyer from the sitting room, letting herself fall out of pace with Ben, the dragging of her feet nearly setting them out of sync. The few other casual love interests she had entertained before would have kept on, pulling her along, but he stopped, looking back at her, his eyes unknowable behind that mask.

 

_ That stupid, stupid mask.  _ Rey flinched away from the rancid whisper that sounded in her mind, the camera apparatus feeling heavy and clinking in time with their steps and maybe even her heart.

 

She knew she was a fool as he stopped, her feet pausing in the journey to suit him. She peeked down at their sock-clad feet, the realization that he was so much taller, so much  _ bigger,  _ than she imagined him to be plopping firmly into place in her head. Into her definition of Ben Solo, the guy that she was on the edge of liking all too much.

 

Bazine had said he was hulking, like a monster. DJ had surmised that he was actually frail, being cooped up inside for so long without sunlight, wilting like some flower. Ben was neither, and Rey let herself sigh, her chest still squeezing tight and taut around her heart. 

 

“What’s wrong, Kira?” His voice, deep but warm, jolted her out of her thoughts, and she looked up into the mask, trying to find the eyes hiding behind it. 

 

“I just...I’ve never done this before.” She sounded pathetic-- Rey knew that, at a lost without a cue to go off of in the moment, but this would be the closest to honesty that she could get.

 

Ben tilted his head in a silent question, and she breathed out a laugh, explaining, “Fencing, and meeting parents. I usually don’t do this kind of thing. I’m not one of your kind.”

 

She could have slapped a hand over her mouth at that admission, hurriedly ‘correcting’ herself: “I mean, I’m not a rich blueblood. I just have the name. I couldn’t offer you more than that.”

 

Rey waited a beat, wondering if her heart was audible to both of them, and then Ben squeezed her hand, his voice low in a murmur:

 

“I don’t care if you’re rich. You know that, right, Kira?”

 

“You don’t?” She felt almost dizzy with relief, until the brakes were hit and she was sent careening with reality as he nodded, adding:

 

“With my parents, with  _ me too _ , I guess...your good name is more important. I just want to be able to take one of my own. Money doesn’t matter.” He squeezed her hand, and Rey didn’t have to see his face to know that he was looking at her hopefully, maybe even relieved.

 

So she let her face become a mask too, a smile settling painfully on her cheeks as she forced herself to laugh. “Oh, thank god. I was worried.”

 

She noticed his little nod to himself, how his hand squeezed hers again, as if to assure himself that she was still there, and Rey wasn’t sure if she should feel sorry for him or herself. There wasn’t room to feel bad for them both. There had never even been room for her before.

 

_ He doesn’t want you. You knew that from the start.  _ That rancid whisper was back, and now it had lacquered lips, like that bitch Bazine, and Rey swallowed the lump down in her throat.

 

True, she had known that. Yes, she knew that this would end badly. She couldn’t convince herself that it was a good idea anymore, but still, she let herself be pulled along again, Ben’s pulse flickering steady under her fingers.

  
  
  


Rey knew that this meeting was anything but typical, watching a teacup clatter into its saucer as the kitchen occupants looked up, seemingly startled at the intrusion. Ben’s father seemed to take it in stride, nodding to her before returning to his paper, but his mother sat with her mouth agape, as if she didn’t fully believe that there was a girl at her son’s side.

 

The shock seemed to fade quickly though, Ben clearing his throat almost sheepishly, the sound a rumble behind the fencing mask. “Kira, these are my parents, Han and Leia. Mom, Dad… this is Kira.”

 

Rey felt a blush burst on her cheeks almost proudly, savoring how tender he had said her fake name, a sound she could live in for the next week at least. Leia’s hands were cold compared to her son’s, though, the older woman clasping her hands over the young woman’s. Her smile seemed stiff, wary, even as her eyes shined with excitement.

 

“Kira! What a lovely name! Such a lovely girl,” she murmured, glancing at her son, her brow furrowing and then smoothing. She patted Rey’s hand, smiling nevertheless. Rey tried not to shrink away from the analyzing eye, the quirked eyebrow, wondering if she had been found wanting.

 

Leia didn’t seem intent on answering the question, instead turning again to Ben, her smile taut at the corners. “Ben, darling, would you mind stepping into the pantry with me? I can’t reach the sugar for the life of me, and I think Phasma moved the stepstool the other day.”

 

“The sugar bowl is full,dear. And the step stool is still in the pantry,” Han droned from behind the newspaper, the pages held aloft high enough that the man missed his wife’s attempt at a subtle glare. Still, Leia sunnily grinned at Rey, patting her hands.

 

“It won’t take more than a minute, Kira dear. I’ll have Ben back to you before you can miss him.” With that, she took her son by the arm, pulling him along, across the kitchen and into the butler’s pantry. In a moment, the butler, Cecil, was scurrying out, looking chagrined and muttering something about tending to the garden instead, and the heavy door closed behind the mother and son.

  
Despite herself, Rey let herself stare, fingers nervously touching the lapel of her jacket. There was a pit in her stomach that seemed to be deepening, waiting for her to fall over the edge into a free fall. Then there was the guttural sound of a throat clearing, and she felt herself jump at the sound. 

  
"I know that look," Rey heard the older man sigh, his soft but craggy face barely moving as he formed the words. She let her eyes drift back to him, his mouth pursed in thought as he stood, folding the paper before him. Han looked at her, sighing again.   
  
  
He pulled out a chair, offering her a seat before sinking in the one across the table from her. He seemed to be chewing over some thought, his jaw working as he thought.  "You're not a Blue-blood, are you, kid?"  
  
  
Han lifted a hand to hush the words that had barely the chance to form in her mind, let alone fly from her mouth. He chuckled, shrugging at Rey's wide eyes, the slight tremor to her hands.  
  
  
"Your secret is safe with me, kid. I just know the look of someone in over their head. I had the same look about me, back in the day." He fixed her with his eyes, as if he was trying to figure out why she was there. But he didn't ask, and she was glad. She'd hate to lie any more.  
  
  
"Just be careful with the boy, alright? I should have helped him more when he was growing up, but when his mother gets an idea... Well, it's hard to say no to your sweetheart, no matter how dire the circumstances." Han shook his head, huffing.  "He's new to this. He's never had hope before."  
  
  
"But... If I don't have a good name, then aren't I useless to him? To you?" Rey felt foolish, asking a question that truly didn't matter. Not when she was supposed to be getting in, taking a picture and getting out.   
  
  
Han rubbed his jaw, scratched the stubble there. "Well, my philosophy is that you're the only one who determines if your name is any good or not. My name was shit, but then I worked my ass off to make everyone forget that fact and now..." He gestured at the large kitchen they sat in, and shrugged.  
  
  
"It's up to you, kid. But don't let a silly little thing like that get in your way. I didn't."

 

Despite herself, Rey felt her mouth quirk up in a smile. Han glanced at her, and if he wasn’t trying to seem so gruff, she was sure he’d have smiled back. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and chuckled.

 

“Come on. There’s no use sitting here and waiting for those two. Might as well get you suited up while those two bicker.” His dark eyes seemed to twinkle, his mouth lifting in a smirk as he added, thoughtfully, “Besides, I can show you a few basic feints and jabs. Imagine the look on his face when you best him, newbie.”

 

Neither of them acknowledged the impossibility of the young woman seeing Ben’s face, Rey instead following the father out of the kitchen and along that long hallway again. Despite the circumstances, this almost felt normal. She only could hope that Ben felt the same way.   
  



	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Double Update! Thank you all so much for reading!

Ben supposed that he should be grateful for his mother pulling him into the pantry, the man taking the opportunity to lift the mask and take a breath of fresh air. He hadn’t thought of how hot it would be behind the headgear, only of what Kira would think.

 

However, the sight he was greeted with when he lifted the mask was his mother’s fuming face, her hands on her hips, mouth screwed up in a frown. He sighed. He had known to expect this much.

 

“Benjamin Organa-Solo, are you out of your mind?” She hissed, her hands balling up in fists as he grimaced at her. “Did you actually think this plan through, or are you  _ trying  _ to throw all your hard work away?”

 

“Oh, of course I am,” he snapped back, gritting his teeth. “I thought it would be fun to wear a disguise all day just to tear off the mask and scream ‘boo’ while another one runs away. Because we both know how I love sabotaging myself and getting rejected every time.”

 

Ben ignored how his mother’s face crumpled with hurt, pushing on. “Have you considered that I could like someone enough to take a risk? When was the last time I did something like this?”

 

Leia met his eye obstinately before sighing in defeat, shrugging. “You never have.”

 

Ben nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek now as his mother continued. “You didn’t think of asking us for help though. What if something goes wrong? What happens if she sees your face?”

 

“If that happens, hopefully that means we’ll be done with this mess.” His mother sighed, turning away, and he had to catch her by the shoulder to get her to look at him again. “Seriously, Mom. I think she’s the one.”

 

Leia heard how soft his voice was, and she met his eyes, seeing her vulnerable little boy in the eyes of the man he had become. He looked almost ashamed at the admission, his eyes still shining brightly. She couldn’t help but smile at the look, laughing softly.

 

“What did you do with my cynical son? Who is this romantic in front of me?” She teased, Ben groaning in response, still smiling all the same. 

 

“You’re really a pain, y’know that, right?” He squeezed her hand, turning to leave the pantry. There was a nudge at his hand, and he looked down, his mother offering up his headgear and mask. There was still a tinge of worry in the air, and he let the twinge of disappointment settle and dissipate.

 

“Please just don’t take it off in front of her today, alright? Please. I want to be sure that she’s the one too, dear.” For once, his mother looked chastened, apologetic, and it was only because of this that he put the helmet back on, his nose brushing against the soft mesh.

 

Just a gentle reminder that it was still there, no matter how Kira made him forget.

 

His emergence from the pantry was a solemn one, and he lifted his gaze from his feet to the table, expecting to see her waiting there, tense and silent with Han. Kira’s absence from that spot had the blood draining from his face, wondering what could have happened that would have made her leave…

 

And then he heard the whoop of laughter from the open window, and he dashed there, poking his head out to look. 

 

In the courtyard below, there was his father, running a drill with a suited up figure. The slight figure let out another laugh, and in response, Ben let himself call out. “Kira?”

 

In a moment, the other masked person was looking up at him, and she tore the headgear off, her cheeks pinked and pulled wide in a grin. Her hair was sticking to her face with sweat and she waved at him joyfully. 

 

“Ben! Your dad was showing me how to fence!” Ben glanced at his father, a quirked eyebrow that was met with an unconcerned shrug. 

 

“I figured that the girl deserved a chance to be a better challenger, Mr. Fancy-Pants.” Ben saw the unmistakable glint of humor in his father’s eyes as he offered his excuse.

 

“You can still teach me more! I promise, he didn’t teach me anything fancy,” Kira called up innocently. 

 

Ben snorted in reply, shaking his head. “I doubt that. The old man taught me almost everything I know...prepare to duel, Miss Kenobi.”

 

He could have stayed in the window, just to ensure that he didn’t have to miss a note of her laughter, but instead, he raced down the hall. He paused for a moment as he considered the front door, instead dashing up the stairs for his room.

 

Kira looked at him oddly when he finally joined her and Han, a large parcel under his arm, but then she was donning the mask again, jokingly pointing her foil at him.

 

“En guarde,” She murmured, the grin apparent in her voice, and for a moment, Ben could forget every worry that he and his mother had between them. For a moment, he and Kira were equal, hiding behind masks.

 

**..........**

 

“Are you sure this is your first time fencing?” Ben let himself collapse on the lawn, feeling himself wheeze. Kira had let him walk through several drills with her before they actually faced off, seriously. While they parried each other’s feints and she didn’t win over him-- they did seem equally matched-- he wondered how long Han had to tutor her. He was sore and thoroughly tired, but was satisfied, watching Kira plop next to him in the grass.

 

She pulled off her helmet now, panting and wiping rivulets of sweat from her face. “I promise, I haven’t picked up a foil before today. Han can tell you-- I had no idea how to put on the armor, let alone how to hold the sword.”

 

“I could have helped you with the uniform,” Ben muttered, feeling himself flush warmer as the young woman turned to look at him, her eyebrow raised to accompany her smirk.

 

“Yeah? Were you looking forward to that or something?” Despite the fact that Han had gone back into the house an hour before, Kira glanced around them before scooching closer, so that they were shoulder to shoulder as they laid on their backs.

 

Her gaze returned to the sky, her hazel eyes lazily watching the clouds that drifted high above them. Ben wondered what he could have ate that had his stomach in nervous knots, and then she slipped a hand into his and he realized that the feeling definitely wasn’t because of his breakfast.

 

“For the record, I’m a gentleman,” he muttered when he finally found his wits again, listening to Kira hum in response.

 

“Yeah? Is that why you brought a gift for when I bested you?” She gestured at the large flat box that laid a few feet away, the parcel forgotten in the excitement of being outside, and with a girl, to boot.

 

Ben groaned, hoping that Kira knew that he was smiling as he rolled off his back and crawled to the box. He brought it back, sinking back onto his haunches as he handed it to her. His nose itched under the mask, and he wished that he could just stop hiding. Instead, he focused on her face and hands as she considered the box.

 

She was careful with unwrapping, gingerly slipping the gift bow from the box and prying the box’s lid off. A gentle rustle of tissue gave way to a gasp, and Ben watched Kira’s hands sweep over the soft fabric of a blue peacoat. “Ben…”

 

His name from her lips was a reverent sound and he squirmed, half with pleasure, half with nerves. “I noticed that you wear that one jacket a lot, and you said you prefer practical gifts so… I wanted to surprise you.”

 

She didn’t answer him, her fingers stroking the soft fabric, her eyes shining brighter than the new and polished buttons.

 

“Do you like it?” His voice was small, and his stomach clenched. He waited for the polite rebuff, or even the haughty rejection entirely, but then she lifted her face to him, and he realized that her eyes were shining with tears.

 

“This is the nicest gift anyone has ever given me. Really.” In a moment, her arms were around his neck, her embrace tight. He cradled her, instincts serving him well for once in his life, one arm snug around her waist, a hand on the back of her head.

 

When she pulled back, her hazel eyes searching for his brown ones behind the mask, Ben wondered at the odd sense of anticipation that flooded his veins. And then she reached for his mask and tugged upwards.

 

He gasped at the feel of her breath against his chin, his lips exposed to the air. Ben wanted to trust that she wouldn’t lift any higher-- he wanted to trust her so bad, especially as he watched her eyes flutter shut, her head tilt just a bit to slant her lips against his…

 

But he couldn’t trust even himself, and his arms fell away from her as if she was the sun and he was Icarus, skin melting with his mistakes. Kira fell back, her bottom landing on the grass firmly, and he wanted to convince himself that any pain on her face was from the landing. Not from the rejection he was treating her to. 

 

For a moment, he wanted to apologize, reach out to her, pull her up, kiss her like she deserved. Actually show her how grateful and flattered someone like him could be that someone like her wanted to even touch him. 

 

Instead, he yanked the mesh mask back down over his face and, stumbling back, turned and sprinted into the house, as if he was still a child. He never imagined rejecting anyone before, and he felt nauseous, his face hot, his breathing constricted behind that  _damn_ mask.

 

**.......**

 

Ben wasn’t sure if she ran after him, slamming his bedroom door behind him and locking it for good measure, wondering how his legs had carried him up the stairs when he was trembling so much. He only knew that there was incessant knocking at his door, the sound reminiscent to how his blood still pounded in his ears.

 

The sound only quieted when he tore that stupid helmet from his head and, with a howl, chucked it across the room, where it landed with a crash and a shatter. He didn’t particularly care where it landed, instead crawling into bed and pulling the blankets over his head like he used to during thunderstorms as a child.

 

He fell asleep like that, a restless tangle of limbs and sweat staining the uniform he had forgot to pull off himself. When the morning light trickled in from the slats of his blinds, Ben reluctantly opened his eyes, only to scramble for his bedside table.

 

The beer glass was gone, as if the evidence of Kira’s existence had been scrubbed clean as well, the fencing helmet from yesterday’s disaster seemingly resting in its place. 

 

It took him several minutes to put everything back in order, the beer cup slightly crushed, but sitting beside his cell phone, which he now regarded cautiously. It trilled now, an alert made to remind him that there was a message waiting.

 

It was from Kira, of course.   _ I’m so sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean to cross any lines… I’m so mad at myself. Forgive me?  _

  
  


It took him a moment to respond, his fingers slow and sore against the touchscreen.  _ You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m sorry, too. _

 

He took a breath and then held it as he typed up a second message, sending it before he could think better of it:  _ Are you still coming over today? _

  
  


She didn’t respond.

  
  



	12. Chapter Eleven

 

 

Ben’s message sat on her phone for a few days after it had come through. He thankfully hadn’t texted her more, unlike that journalist and that snotty society girl. Rey scraped at another speck of gum stuck under the bar, the repetitive motion almost soothing as she thought back to Sunday.

 

* * *

 

_ She had known that she had messed up, majorly so, the moment she saw his full lips part in a gasp. She hadn’t planned on exposing anything more than his lips--she promised, really, that she hadn’t-- but that didn’t seem to matter when he dropped her, left her sprawling on the lawn in his haste to get away. _

 

“People always run away from me,”  _ Ben had told her over chess one day, and she had wanted to huff a laugh and a sob in the same breath, picking herself up and doing her best to disentangle herself from the padded armor.  _

 

_ She ignored Han bellowing her name from the front door, leaving the armor in a pile on the grass as she stalked to where she left that damn rigged coat, plucking it up and stowing it under her arm. She had hesitated, considering the pea coat, the gift that he had so thoughtfully picked out.  _

 

_ She left that behind too, marching herself out the mansion’s front gate, down the block and to the dilapidated van. Rey pulled herself up short then, hearing the murmurs and muttering of a conversation that she probably wasn’t supposed to hear. _

 

“What is that girl doing? Besides wasting my film.”  _ The reporter--DJ-- had been looking at the photo prints from previous visits, she could see his silhouette through the van’s privacy blinds. _

 

“She’s doing it on purpose,”  _ had been that damn heiress’ reply, something that DJ snorted at before she made her insistence clear: _

 

“She’s going for the dowry.” _ At that accusation, Rey had flung open the van door, scoffing at the perfectly coiffed blonde who looked back with mutual disdain. _

 

“Give me a break.”  _ Rey pushed the rigged jacket back into DJ’s hands and had been in the process of pulling on her own coat as the other woman--Bazine, or Beatrice, or whatever snobby white rich woman name she’d been given-- pressed on. _

 

“Why else would it be taking you so long? He revealed himself to me straightaway.”

 

_ Rey snorted at that, sparing a look at Bazine. “Well, you know what? I guess he liked you more.” _

 

_ She bent her head down again, now to button her coat, which wasn’t near as soft as the peacoat, and she was tempted to go back and retrieve it, maybe apologize to Ben along the way too, when she heard Bazine mutter: _

 

“Why settle for 5,000 when you can get ten times that, right?” 

 

_ Rey felt herself still at the accusation, but continued buttoning, fingers slipping over them as her hands trembled, Bazine murmuring still. _

 

“Well, maybe you’re forgetting, I’ve seen him. He is grotesque.” 

 

“Shut her up.” _ Rey looked past Bazine to DJ, who seemed engrossed in the unusable prints now, as if they contained evidence that the rich girl was right. _

 

“I’m talking unkissable ugly, nightmare ugly, puke--” _ Before Bazine could finish her description, Rey was clapping a hand over her mouth, not caring about the lipstick smearing against her palm, not caring about being gentle as she dug the pads of her fingers into the heiress’ cheeks to hold her in place as she stared her down. _

 

“Listen to me, you little worm. I know your kind. Spoiled rotten, daddy’s little girl with no care in the world and a closed, little mind--” _ Suddenly, Bazine jerked against her hand, and Rey pulled back with a gag, looking at her hand in disgust. _

 

“Good God! She licked me!” _ At this, DJ seemed to finally resurface, glancing at Bazine, bemused and a bit disappointed. _

 

“Bazine! Don’t lick Rey.” _ There was a pouted apology in reply, and DJ scooted closer to the open door, smoothing the rigged jacket before looking back up at Rey. _

 

“You can’t blame us for being suspicious.”

 

“Fine, find someone else,” _ Rey bit back, tugging at the lapels of her coat and turning on her foot to leave. Bazine’s words pulled her up short: _

 

“Fine, give us back the money.” 

 

_ Rey glanced at the pair from over her shoulder, and in that moment, she knew that she was stuck. There was no way that she’d have the money to give back. There was no way to clean her hands from whatever betrayal she’d heap on top of Ben, especially after today.  _

 

_ So instead, she shoved her hands in her pockets, jerking her head into a nod when DJ called after her, “ _ See you tomorrow.”

 

_ “ _ Fuck you,” _ She muttered under her breath, turning up her collar against the wind, wishing that she had never met Ben Solo, just so she wouldn’t be responsible for ruining his life.  _

 

* * *

 

“I wondered if I’d find you here.” Rey didn’t flinch at DJ’s voice, instead ignoring him as she continued on her gum finding mission, moving the small wastebasket and scraping spatula along with her as she took another step down the bar.

 

He didn’t seem perturbed by her movement. Why would he, she figured, seeing that he had chased down bigger stories before. He waited a moment, as if he expected her to say something, maybe curse him. When she remained silent, he sighed, his weight shifting onto his other leg as he leaned against the bar.

 

“You didn’t come back on Monday. Or yesterday. Or today. If you’re serious about being done, you need…”

 

“I know I need to get you the money back,” Rey lifted her head to stare him in the eye, his black, nondescript eyepatch seemingly more jarring in the turned-up houselights of the bar. She gestured to the wastebasket, her waitress apron, the bar around them. “I’m working on it.”

 

“I was actually going to say ‘you need to explain yourself.’” He stared back at her, his grizzled face and almost beady good eye falling in exhaustion. A pause, and he continued. “You’re not Kira Kenobi.”

 

Despite herself, Rey laughed. “Give the man a prize. ‘Most unsurprising discovery of the year.’ Congratulations. I’m just a waitress.”

 

DJ didn’t laugh, still studying her instead. She felt her shoulders droop, and she set down the wastebasket. “Let me guess, you’re here to blackmail me with fraud and identity theft unless I don’t get the picture.”

 

“Not at all. I’m just...curious, I guess you could say.” He gestured at one of the bar stools next to him, and Rey reluctantly sank into it, leaning on her elbows as she listened.

 

“Maybe it’s because it’s my profession, but I feel that I need to know: why would a waitress at a dead end job agree to pretend to be a blueblood?” DJ sighed at her noncommittal shrug.

 

“We all need money, especially if you’re a waitress at a dead-end job.” Rey murmured, jerking away a bit at DJ’s dry laugh.

 

“Listen, kid, I looked into you. You have no student debt-- managed to skate by with a music degree on a full-ride scholarship. You’re not married, you have a roommate that pays the rent on time, a boss that pays you on time… what on earth would you want an extra $5,000 for?”

 

“To find my family.” Rey wanted to regret how quickly the words came flying from her mouth, but then she looked at how DJ nodded thoughtfully, as if the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. She knew he wasn’t going to ask more, and so she was unsure at the little surge of fury that sparked in her.

 

“I mean, you should have figured that out. Didn’t your little file on me tell you I was left on a doorstep? Finding my family is the most obvious solution, the most obvious reason.” She huffed at him, crossing her arms as he lifted his hands in mock surrender.

 

“I figured I should ask you directly. A good journalist never presumes. We just snoop.” His mouth crinkled in a smile, and Rey wasn’t sure if he meant to endear himself to her, the grin quickly fading.

 

“I asked around, found the real Kira last night. She was the one who told me your name.”

 

“Well, now that you’ve got it, I’m useless to you now, right?” She hoped that he said yes, her heart squeezing in her chest all too painfully. If he said yes, she could go to Ben and… do what? Admit that she had lied? Waltz up to him and say  _ Hi, my name is actually Rey Jakkusun, I’m middle class at best, how about an actual date? _

 

She grit her teeth at the thought, resignation seeping into her as she watched DJ shake his head. “No, we’re too far gone. We have to finish this up.”

 

He studied her a bit longer, watching how she traced the countertop with her nail. “Rey,” he muttered, and in a second, her wide hazel eyes were looking up at him and he wondered when he exactly got into the business of ruining lives, the weariness and reluctance all too palpable in her look.

 

“Just one more try. Just go to the house tomorrow. Once you get the picture, you don’t have to go back. You can forget about this whole mess, alright?” 

 

Her laughter caught him off guard, the sound harsh and lifeless, bitter and more of a scoff. “I don’t think you understand, mister. I’m not just going to be able to ‘forget.’ This doesn’t work like that.”

 

Rey leaned her cheek against her hand, letting the words fall from her lips like a death sentence: “I think I love him. And the absolutely worst part of this mess? I have to hurt him anyways.”

 

She looked at DJ long and hard, chuckling mirthlessly again. “So when I get the money, I’ll pay you back. Because nothing, especially five thousand measly dollars, is worth what I’m about to do to him.”

 

With that, she picked up the pail and scraper, wandering down towards the end of the bar to start the clean-up process fresh. DJ watched her drift away, wondering if her shoulders were heaving, if she was crying.

 

He wondered that still as he left the bar, hands in his coat pockets, questioning everything that he had ever done for a story. If this was really worth it.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy emotions, Batman. This update has me a bit wiped, but still, I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Thank you again for all the kind words in your comments! I'm really happy to be back and writing, and I hope that I can provide a bit of happiness to your weekends.
> 
> A quick note: This is the last chapter with MAJOR switching perspectives. Each section is separated when the perspective shifts so hopefully it's not too confusing. Also, I do not own the lyrics to "You are my sunshine" or "Come and Go With Me." Though it'd be nice. 
> 
> Shit gets real in this chapter, but don't worry, things will get more fun again soon(ish). Let me know what you think!

It had been three full days since Ben had found himself running from someone instead of being ran from. After giving it a lot of thought, he still wasn’t sure which was preferable as an experience, especially as Kira had treated him to radio silence ever since. 

 

Truth be told, it was clear that no one in the Organa-Solo household knew how to handle such a thing. Phasma had scolded both him and Leia for acting on her day off. Leia had tried to console him, though it was difficult to do so when she was reminding him that he had been the one running. Han merely patted his shoulder, as if to say  _ it’ll all work out  _ before going back to his paper.

 

The housekeeper, Maz, was the only one who acted as if nothing happened, scolding Ben for wearing pajamas all of Monday and Tuesday as he sulked about the house, getting in her way as she attempted to dust and vacuum. 

 

At one point, she had thrown up her hands and declared, “You’re worse than your grandfather was when he was in love-- and don’t you dare ask how he used to be, I refuse to discuss that trainwreck.”

 

That statement had left Ben’s mind occupied all of Tuesday night, which is why he actually got dressed Wednesday, and now today. He checked Thursday’s box off the calendar beside his bed as he got up, glancing across the room and to the empty sitting room beyond his mirror. Deep in his gut, he knew that nothing was going to happen today, just like nothing had happened the days before.

 

Still, he pulled a clean t-shirt and jeans on, slinking down to the kitchen for breakfast. He left his phone on the bedside table, unwilling to fixate on it any more than he already had.

 

In the silence, it trilled and vibrated on the little cherrywood table, coming close to the edge, but not enough to fall off.

 

* * *

 

Rey could feel how stiff her limbs were as she knocked on the front door of the Organa-Solo mansion. The camera in her lapel felt extra heavy this morning, as did the weight of DJ and Bazine watching her after she left them back in the van. Her stomach had been in knots all night since she had gotten off her shift, and Rose had looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a furrowed mouth when she had refused coffee.

 

She couldn’t even stomach the thought of what she was about to try and do, let alone anything meant to perk her up. So instead, she shifted her weight from foot to foot and shivered as she waited for someone to open the door.

 

The matchmaker seemed relieved to let her in, quickly ushering her into the house and up the stairs, depositing her in the sitting room. As if Sunday hadn’t happened, as if everything could go back to normal. 

 

Rey took a step towards the sofa, looking back at Phasma as she murmured, “Ben is just finishing up breakfast. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

 

She offered a sliver of a smile before she was gone again, the heavy oak door shutting solidly behind her. Rey brushed a hand against the plush couch, her eyes travelling slowly around the room. She might as well take inventory, collect every memory she had made in that room with a disembodied voice and his kindness. 

 

The bookshelf was dusty in the spot where she had lifted the proffered novel that first visit. He probably thought that she had sold it off by now, but no, it sat beside her bed, waiting for her to pick it up and keep reading.

 

She straightened a pawn on the chessboard, letting a finger settle against the white queen piece now. There was a smile itching to get up onto her lips as she thought of Ben’s reasoning against her using the king to win. 

 

_ Without his queen, the king is useless. He really loved her, you know. _

 

When she came to the piano, she stopped short, trying to remember how she had missed this gem. She really hadn’t the time to explore the room that she had spent the better part of a few weeks in, not when she had Ben to entertain. 

 

She lifted the lid, hesitated, touched the keys. Her heart hummed in time with the mindless plunking of the keys, and she smiled. It had been too long since she had played, especially in comparison to how she played every day, back in college.

 

Back then, she had wanted to become a teacher, share music with students, but then times became hard and she ended up waitressing at a jazz club. In the beginning, it was close enough to satisfy her, and now… well, like most things in her life, it just became how things were.

 

“Do you play?” Ben’s voice jolted her from her thoughts, and she swung around, disappointed but not surprised that he seemed to be in hiding again. She huffed out a laugh, even as her heart sank in anticipation, glancing up at the mirror across from her.

 

“I used to. I don’t anymore.” Rey moved to the mirror, leaning on the fireplace’s mantle, musing at her reflection as she tried to look past it. As if this time it was a window both ways, as if she’d see him if she concentrated enough. 

 

A beat, and they interrupted each other.   
  


“Why don’t you play anymore?” “I’m sorry, Ben.”

 

“Oh.” His voice seemed quieter, as if he was taken aback at the apology. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

 

“I beg to differ,” Rey sniffed, pulling herself back, frowning at herself in the mirror. “I shouldn’t have sprung myself on you like that. That was rude of me, and I’m sorry.”

 

There was a laugh then, and she dug her nails into her palm as she fisted her hands, trying her best to commit the sound to memory. “Oh, I don’t mind. It’s just… It’s never happened before. I’ve never been kissed.”

 

“Well, I can’t tell you if it’s better than a beer from Cloverdilly’s...I really don’t know if you’re missing much.” She reached out, touched the mirror, the glass cold and so unlike how his hand had felt on Sunday.

 

“I feel like I’m missing a lot. Especially since I missed the chance with you.” Rey’s throat itched with a lump of tears that tried to work their way up. There was no way to respond honestly, not really. 

 

So instead, she let herself murmur, “Do you want to hear me try to play the piano?”

 

She could practically see him cocking his head in amusement, mirth tinging his deep voice. “I’m sure it’s not just an attempt. You’re pretty good at anything you do.”

 

Rey huffed a laugh, walking away from the mirror and back to the piano, calling behind her, “Well, I hope that I’m pretty good at this. I did go to college for it.”

 

As she let her hands settle against the keyboard, Rey considered that statement. It was probably the most honest she had been the whole experience. This was her, not Kira, not some make believe girl. Her. Just her, who he wouldn’t actually want.

 

But she didn’t focus on that. Instead, she cleared her throat, let her hands shift to clink the keys, melody and harmony twining around each other.

 

_ You are my sunshine, _

_ My only sunshine. _

_ You make me happy _

_ When skies are gray… _

* * *

 

Kira’s voice was sweeter today than it had been, and Ben wondered if it was because this was a new facet of discovery, or if it was true, that absence makes the heart fonder. He watched her brunette tresses bounce in time with her nodding head, her slim hands moving fluidly, if not tentatively, across the keyboard.

 

He knew that he should be smart, bide his time just a little bit longer, let everything resume normalcy, work their way back to comfort, but instead, he was pushing himself out of his seat on the other side of the mirror. In a few strides, he was at the hidden doorway, pushing it open slowly.

 

Kira didn’t seem to hear him, laughing at herself instead as she finished the children’s song and shifting into a more complex song. He wondered if it was one of her favorites, her voice curling around each word fondly.

 

_ Well, I love my darling _

_ Come and go with me _

_ Come home with me _

_ Baby I’m to see _

_ I need you darling _

_ Come and go with me _

 

His footsteps seemed louder to him than before, and it took a moment to realize that it was because his heart was pounding hard in tandem. It took him barely a minute to cross the room, to be standing at her elbow, her gaze never shifting up until the last note rang from her mouth and the instrument.

 

“Wow,” Ben sighed, his hand reaching out and alighting on Kira’s shoulder to rest there. She smiled at the touch, and then she turned back to look up at him.

 

“You think s--!” Her eyes had barely landed on his face and she was scrambling off the piano bench in surprise, backing against the bookcase behind her with a thud. 

 

Instinctually, he stepped back as well, his hands fisting themselves up at his side, unsure what to do. He waited for her to scream, to go running, but instead, she stood there still, staring at him. 

 

He looked to his feet and then back at her, feeling his mouth open and then close as he tried to figure out what to say, how to explain away the nose. There was no way, and so he looked to his feet again. His eyes flickered up as a floorboard creaked, and it was clear that she was stepping closer.

 

Kira blinked at him, pushing herself away from the bookcase, her gaze transfixed on his face, on his nose. He wanted to shrink away, but then there was a gentle hand in his, her other hand reaching for his face. He closed his eyes as he felt her fingers brush his cheek, approach his snout.

 

Then there was a  _ click,  _ a swear, and Kira was recoiling, disgust on her face.

 

“I’m a monster,” Ben muttered under his breath, and he barely heard Kira call after him as he ran, again, down the stairs. Anywhere that was away from her.

 

“Ben!” He looked up, slowing himself at the sight of his mother, down the hallway, by the kitchen. He strode to her, the tears that he hadn’t dared to shed the past 12 years finally slip out.

 

“I told you. I told you!” He muttered hoarsely at her, his mother catching him by the shoulders.

 

“No, no! Benjamin. She didn’t run! You ran this time!” Leia shook him a little, patting his face, worried despite the tumult of emotions,the panic.

 

“She just stared at me! No one’s ever just stood there before.” His heart was still beating hard, adrenaline still insisting that he ran, but his mother’s hands kept him rooted.

 

“Would you give the poor girl the chance to adjust? She just needed a minute…” There was the slam of the door and his mother was cursing, whirling on the matchmaker who stood a few paces away, almost too stunned to move.

 

“Oh, my god, you let her get away, Phasma!”

 

* * *

 

Rey swore under her breath again as she tore off the blazer, her flats scuffing harshly against the gravel driveway as she stalked from the house. DJ had moved the van closer to the house while she was inside, and he was there to greet her, his grizzled face split wide with a hopeful smile.

 

“Did you get it? Did you get the picture?” 

 

Rey’s stomach lurched at the question, but still, she smiled sunnily at him. “Oh, yeah! Yes, I did. Here you go.”

 

With a quick hand, she was pulling the camera from the blazer and chucking it to the pavement in one fluid motion, crushing her foot atop of it for good measure. She glared at DJ, who sputtered at the turn of events, yelling.

 

“I needed that photo!”

 

“He’s not as Bazine said he was. Just leave him alone.” For good measure, Rey tossed the blazer on the sidewalk, dragging her foot over it and across the wreckage of the camera, taking some solace in the sound of silk ripping.

 

The solace was gone in a moment, a shriek replacing it instead. “ _ Toro?” _

 

Both DJ and Rey turned to look, both swearing at the aghast face of one Leia Organa. Phasma was at her elbow, taking in the scene in confusion.

 

“Who’s Toro?”

 

“It doesn’t matter-- shut the gate!” 

 

“No, don’t shut the gate!” Rey grit her teeth, dashing towards the mansion gate, groaning at how the matchmaker had slammed it in her face a moment too soon. 

 

Most people would take that as a sign to leave well enough alone, but Rey had been raised to see an obstacle as a thing to get over, not a thing to stop her. So she applied that knowledge in the most literal sense, springing herself at the wrought iron gate besides the wooden door. 

 

It was clear that the women on the other side were not expecting to see the little urchin hoisting herself over, let alone landing with only a minor scrape. But that was the obstacle  _ they  _ had to be concerned with, not her, and so she raced past them, back through the open door.

 

“ _ BEN!”  _ Her voice was pitched all too shrill for a yell, and for a moment, she wondered if she was too late, a beat of silence echoing back to her.

 

“Kira?” There was Ben’s head, his dark head of curls poking out and over the second floor’s bannister, the answer to her call. Rey could have sobbed with relief, instead calling up to him again.

 

“Ben, I have to tell you something!”

 

“Don’t listen to her-- she’s a spy!” The skittering of heels on the hardwood beside her had Rey tensing, knowing that she was an ill word away from being pitched to the street. Still, she turned to Leia, brow furrowing as she frowned.

 

“I’m not.” The matriarch met her gaze evenly, and the young woman let herself shrink just a bit. “Yes, but…”

 

“Yes, you’re a spy! You’re working for Toro!” Leia looked up at her son, who was treading down the stairs warily. “The reporter who forced me to bury you, dear.”

 

“You said I was cremated,” Ben remarked wryly, and Rey knew it wasn’t her place to smile, but she couldn’t help the tug of her lips’ corner, the mother scrambling now.

 

“Well, that too.” In a moment, she was whirling on Rey, sniffing indignantly. “I hope you were well paid, because you just said goodbye to a fortune.” 

 

Rey scoffed back at her, balling up her hands, and biting her cheek hard to stop herself from spitting at the blueblood.

 

“She’s still a blueblood...she can break the curse, can’t she?” Phasma’s voice seemed quiet, Leia and Rey both looking back at her in surprise. Their gazes snapped away from the matchmaker and back to Ben, who had stopped a few stairs short from the bottom, wringing his hands.

 

“Kira…” He stopped, hesitated, not daring to look into her eyes until he heard her sharp intake of breath. “I know this face disgusts you. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to accept it…”

 

Rey shook her head frantically, biting at her lip as she choked out, “No, Ben, that’s not--”

 

“But this isn’t actually me, Kira.” He looked to her again, their eyes meeting and holding. “The real me is inside here somewhere just waiting to get out. I promise. And you...you can make that happen. Once the curse is broken, I’ll be like anybody else.” 

 

It killed him to watch her shake her head, her lips parting to ask, “What if the curse isn’t broken? What if...it can never be broken?” 

 

The tears in her eyes seemed to confirm his worst fear, and so he swallowed down the lump in his throat, shrugging helplessly. “Then I’ll kill myself. I will. I promise I will.”

 

She was shaking her head at him again, and he had never been so close to getting on his knees and begging, his voice coming through as a cracked whisper. “Marry me, Kira. Please.”

 

He stretched his hand out towards her, and in that moment, Rey knew that she couldn’t take it. No matter how much she wanted to. 

 

“I can’t. Ben, I can’t.” The tears bubbled up now, cinching her throat tight around the words. “I can’t.”

 

His hand wavered, trembled, and then fell to his side. “Get out.”

 

“Ben…” Rey stepped forward, only to be pushed back by Leia, who echoed her son’s hollow words with fury.

 

“He said get out!”

 

Rey stumbled back at the push, leveraging a look at the mother, then at her son. She turned on her heel and rushed herself out, wishing she had never looked back at Ben, seeing the look of a thousand heartbreaks in his eyes. She wished that he hadn’t stared back as if he regretted his command, as if he actually wanted her to stay.

 

It was far too late to see if that was true, and the iron gate clattered behind her with a tone of finality she hadn’t heard in some time.

 

DJ’s van was no longer at the curb, and so she started the lonely and cold trek home, the rush of tears hot against her cheeks. She didn’t dare think of Ben, back at the mansion, all alone once again. 

 

Priorities shift when you’re in love. Rey had been told this several times before, oftentimes by Rose when she was trying to justify some hairbrained scheme she had cooked up to snag her next beau, but it was the first time that she knew it to be true. She no longer wanted to find her family. Not when she had just lost Ben.

 

So instead, she bent her head down, and cried.

 

* * *

 

Ben considered the hardwood beneath his feet as he sunk down against the stairs, cradling his face in his hands. All of his hope, gone. Faked. Imagined. 

 

Before Kira, he thought that the curse would never be broken, but not for lack of trying. Now he  _ knew _ that the curse would never be broken. He had tried. He had been found lacking. 

 

There was a gentle touch on his shoulder, and he looked up at his mother. He leaned towards her, jerking himself back at her words, as if she had no part in the spectacle that was his first and only heartbreak:

 

“So this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to have Phasma gather up another batch of girls and…” 

 

Ben pushed himself off the stairs, back onto his feet, leaving his mother to call after him to come back. “We can fix this! This is nothing we haven’t been through before. Benjamin, come back!”

 

No, this was nothing he had been through before. This was odd, unique, fresh and raw. This wasn’t the kind of rejection that he could joke away, sleep off, pretend was the norm. His mother wouldn’t understand that.

 

And so, Benjamin Organa-Solo of 1214 Kessel Run, Naboo City, made the first decision of his own in his thirty years of life.

 

He decided to run away. For good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are loved and kudos are appreciated. Either way, thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to talk, you can find me on Tumblr as hersisterskeeper!


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, it's emotions time!
> 
> This was kind of a big chapter, and you'll probably notice that I'll be updating this fic (or trying to) every other day this month. I'm taking on my fanfiction as my NaNoWriMo project with 2,000 words a day (a decent chapter length), so hopefully I'm able to keep everything flowing for y'all.
> 
> Again, thank you for all the comments and kindness-- I can't even begin to tell you how literally lifesaving it has been for me to see your kind words. 
> 
> (One last thing, I swear: if you ever want to prompt me, or just chat about Reylo, or tell me about your day, hit me up!!! My Tumblr is hersisterskeeper and my askbox/inbox is always open!)
> 
> Okay, author's note done. Enjoy!

The house was finally quiet, a fact that Han still wasn’t convinced of as he laid in bed, ears perking at every slight groan the house made as it settled. Beside him, his wife snored, her brow still furrowed from stress.

 

The day had been hard on all of them, most of all Ben. He hadn’t come down for dinner, and Leia had sent Han up to at least put a plate of food outside the door, to remind their son that they were still there. She had encouraged him to say something in consolation, but really, Han couldn’t think of what to say that would make it better.

 

He couldn’t exactly tap on Ben’s door and tell him casually, between describing how Maz made his favorite pot pie and dessert that he had known that the girl wasn’t quite what she appeared. True, he couldn’t have been able to know that she was a spy, someone was just supposed to get a picture and get out, but something still didn’t set right with him about the whole situation.

 

With a groan, the old man pushed himself out of bed gingerly, careful not to shift the mattress and possibly wake his wife. His footsteps were soft on the floor, his slippered feet softening the usual heavy tread. 

 

He passed by Ben’s bedroom door, noting that the plate had been emptied of its contents and been placed neatly beside the door, silverware stacked on it. He nodded to himself, a bit more at ease. At least he was eating.

 

There was a shuffle downstairs, and Han tensed, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him. Another shuffle, and he was emptying one of the hallway’s tables of its flower vase. He’d have to clean up before his wife was awake, but he was sure she’d forgive him for a few wilted lilies if he managed to nab whatever intruder was messing around on the first floor.

 

Quietly, he crept down the stairs, taking time at each of the landings to peer over the banister to try and see the sticky-handed thief. All that he could make out was mumbled curses, the looming figure going through the pockets of every coat on the family rack. 

 

It wasn’t until he reached the last eight stairsteps did it click with Han of how he recognized the shape. It was a form that he was very familiar with seeing in the family pantry, and with that realization, the man relaxed, lowering the vase from overhead, now tucking the urn under his arm as he strolled a few more steps and waited for the figure to look up.

 

Han Solo was very aware of the reputation he had in his family. Leia often saw him as unsupportive of her need to keep their son safe, and while Ben certainly didn’t hold any deepset grudges against him (he didn’t want to even think of a universe where that was true), he was aware that his son thought that he wasn’t someone to be too careful around.

 

Which is how Han found his thirty-year-old son trying to swipe a credit card out of his wallet at 1:47 a.m. on a newly turned Friday morning. The old man bit back a smirk, rolling his eyes nevertheless. He let his son rustle through his wallet for a few more seconds before muttering, “Y’know, if I had known that your teenage rebellion was going to happen fifteen years too late, I’d have stashed the platinum card in my good coat’s wallet.”

 

Ben jolted back, face paling as he stumbled, almost taking the entire coat rack down with him. Han could have laughed at how heavy his son’s guilty conscience seemed to weigh as he stuttered. “It’s not what it...wait, what?” 

 

His wide eyes finally focused and Han chuckled now, deftly plucking up the coat that Ben had been about to look through, removing his wallet and passing the mentioned card over to his son. “The platinum card. Because I’m figuring that you’re trying to bankroll your getaway?” 

 

Ben didn’t seem to want to look at him, his nod begrudging and slow. Han chuckled again, patting him on the shoulder. “If you expect me to make a scene, you’re going to miss your window of opportunity to make a break for it. It’s about damn time.”

 

“What?” There was the furrow of Ben’s brow that he definitely inherited from his mother, and Han shrugged at him nonchalantly. 

 

“I figured you’d run for the hills at some point so I had a contingency plan. I just figured that it’d be sooner.” He sighed, frowning for a moment, thinking. “I think your uncle owes me $20. He bet me at your christening that you would run for the hills in your twenties. I bet thirties.”

 

He grinned at his son who seemed to be trying to figure out if he wanted to laugh with his father or if he wanted to turn around and head back up the stairs, to his room and abandon the plan out of spite. Instead, he huffed, shaking his head.

 

“Good for you. How the hell do you expect to collect on that bet? Luke has been out of the country for at least fifteen years.” 

 

“No, he hasn’t.” Han shrugged at Ben again, turning away to return his wallet from whence it came, back in the coat pocket. “I mean, that’s the official story. He’s really just across town, in the arts district. Didn’t want your mother to know. You know how awkward he is at family functions. The poor guy deserves some sanity.”

 

Han gestured for his son to follow him to the kitchen, both pairs of feet padding softly along the floor. “So you’re all packed up, right? You’re not some idiot who runs away with just the clothes on his back, right?”

 

He hummed contently at how Ben shook his head, nodding to himself. “Guess I didn’t do too bad of a job after all. Let me get you the keys and find that crazy old coot’s address and we’ll have you on your way.”

 

“Keys? What keys?” Ben watched his father pause at the kitchen door, waving him in after him, the older man going over to the hooks of keys they kept by the back door. In a moment, a set of keys was aloft and heading towards him, and Ben reflexively lifted his hands, catching them with ease.

 

His eyes narrowed and then widened, the shiny dice decal catching him by surprised. “You  _ can’t  _ be giving me the T-bird. You’re  _ insane.”  _

 

“Watch it, kiddo. I didn’t haggle with every parts dealer in the greater tri-state area to be called crazy,” Han growled, tossing an eyeroll over his shoulder as he hunched over a pad of paper, dutifully copying down an address from the slim black book he kept by the house phone. 

 

Ben wasn’t sure if the burst of warmth in his chest for his father was admiration--after all, he had hidden a secret from  _ Leia  _ in  _ plain sight _ of all places-- or a bit of sadness. Leave it to his old man to show his love the day he’s leaving the house for good.

 

This was no time for reminiscing though, Han pushing the piece of paper in his hand. “You go warm up the car, I’ll grab your bags.” He waved his son off, out the back door, to the unattached garage. He watched the boy--because that’s how the father still saw him, his gangly, awkward and too soft spoken son-- hesitate before plunging into the early morning darkness.

 

Han wondered if he was a bad father, if he was shoving Ben out of the nest all too soon. On one hand, he feared for his son’s safety--after all, Ben hadn’t had the chance to develop street smarts. He hadn’t met anyone from the outside who hadn’t been vetted and brought in to him. He didn’t know how the world worked, and Han felt his heart squeeze with that old parental fear:

 

_ What if they hurt my boy? _

 

But then he remembered his face. How resolute Ben’s lips had been set, how eagerly he had nodded, how carefully he had tried to plan-- Han could see that care in how the boy had packed, every item of clothing placed thoughtfully in the suitcase. He had to trust that Ben would do alright, and he tried to take solace in the fact that he would have Luke to guide him further.

 

Han Solo wasn’t a religious man; he hadn’t been in a church since Leia had insisted on christening Ben. (He remembered how the priest had stared at the infant and how he had joked that he never knew he’d baptize the Antichrist. Leia wasn’t pleased.) Still, he muttered a prayer under his breath as he grabbed the suitcase, careful not to let it scuff against the floor.

 

_ Keep him safe. Or so help me, God, I’m dying just so I can kick your ass at the pearly gates. _

 

He could hear the purr of the car engine in the front driveway, and the father stopped once again. This time, it wasn’t out of hesitation, but necessity, his hands carefully plucking two soft scarves from the coat rack-- a red one and a black one. He tucked them under his arm, quietly pushing the front door open and stepping out into the morning.

 

It was cold, the wind whistling softly as it dodged between trees, rustling Ben’s hair. Han almost cracked a smile at how bold his son was, the window already down, as if he was trying to catch the scent of freedom. Soon enough, he reasoned. Soon enough.

 

“Pop the trunk, will you?” Ben seemed to realize that he was standing there, outside the car, and he nodded, finger finding the button in obedience. A few moments later, and the suitcase was loaded, and father and son considered each other in the faint haze of the porchlight. 

 

If he was better with words, Han figured now would be when he’d be morally obligated to launch into some well-advised speech. Pass on his knowledge before his son drove off, possibly forever.

 

But he never had been good with words, which is why Ben was the one to finally speak, a bittersweet smile quirking his mouth.

 

“Y’know, it’s kind of fucked up that I’m taking your favorite car. Especially since you worked hard on it while I was growing up.”

 

“I was working on it for you, kid.” The confession surprised him, and Ben too, the young man’s mouth dropping open. Han nodded, reaching through the open window and ruffling his son’s hair roughly, the sweetest gesture he could seem to ever muster while the boy was growing up.

 

“You’re welcome. Treat her nicely.”

 

“I will. Thanks, dad.” Ben didn’t say anything more, and Han didn’t expect him to as he passed the scarves through now. 

 

“Don’t let your uncle try to dress you up like you’re in some musical, alright? This isn’t  _ Phantom of the Opera.  _ You got my good looks, lucky bastard.”

 

“Your looks, and grandpa’s nose.” Ben echoed back, the dark chuckle shared between them as he looked down at the fabric he held now.

 

“Luckily it’s scarf season. Just tell people you have a cold. They’ll leave you alone.” Han cleared his throat, nodded to himself. “Good luck, kid. If you need anything...and I mean  _ anything _ … you call me, alright?”

 

His son nodded, and Han almost cursed how stoic they had always been with each other. But now wasn’t the time for tears. If anything, it was time for celebration. Ben was claiming his life. And so Han pushed himself forward to the large wrought iron gate to let his son out.

His hands wrapped around the cold metal, and for a moment, he considered leaving the gate closed. Considered turning back, taking the keys back, asking for his son’s forgiveness. Asking him not to go.

 

Instead, Han tugged hard at the gate, and it protested and gave way, letting the old man pull it wide, fling it open. In a moment, Ben was piloting the sleek care out into the street, into the sleepy town he had never seen before, couldn’t call his own until now. In a moment, he was gone, and he was free.

 

Han waited until the red taillights had faded in the distance before turning back to the house. His eyes burned, but he wasn’t going to cry. Instead, he swallowed down the lump in his throat, and savored his son’s words.

 

_ Thanks, dad. _

 

Ben would be alright, and that fact alone comforted Han as he made a bed on the living room couch. Seeing that Leia would wake up in a few hours and find out what he had done, he figured he might as well get used to a new sleeping arrangement.


End file.
